


Can We Stay Like This?

by cecilantro



Series: Freckles and Constellations [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Fluff, M/M, No Magic/human au, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates are bullshit soulmate au, Trans Mollymauk Tealeaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: The carnival rolls into town, a new place, a new month of work and advertising.Mollymauk Tealeaf is entrusted with handing out fliers, bringing in patrons, and working the teller shift every night except thursdays.And along the way, he managed tosort of accidentallyget into a mutually beneficial arrangement with fellow touch-starved nerd, Caleb Widogast.Eventually will end up being a good 70% fluff. Just What We Need.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna wait til this one was done to post it but uhhh... considering the latest ep, I think I'd rather just get it out and over with.
> 
> Identifying marks in this AU are your soulmate's flower set in exactly the same place on both of your bodies. They usually look like tattoos, just sometimes a little brighter, more vivid etc, its hard to tell w/o being told.
> 
> And you know, "romantic soulmates are bullshit" ;3c
> 
> Town settin is based on me hometown but w/ New Names because privacy lmao

Mollymauk Tealeaf rubs idly at the flower on his wrist.  
As much as they’re meant to be symbols of joy, this one has been nothing but a problem to him, in the way of his next _normal_ tattoo plan, and of course, you can never get rid of a soulmate mark.

The flower has, he thinks, given him many a fun night and a chuckle, because it turns out that banging a guy with a _morning glory_ as a soulmate mark, especially one bitter of the fact, it’s a lot of fun. You get to make jokes and laugh about the following day, even though he knows he’ll slip out before dawn even rises because he didn’t sleep in the first place, just pretended he did.

 

It’s a reminder of Mollymauk’s old life.

 

It was there when he woke up, it’s there when he sleeps, he sees himself, coated in morning glories and buried under sand and thick earth. It’s not him. It’s from the life before, it would have to be, it’s not as though he had any other mark when he woke.  
  
He adds to it to hide it now, flowers that wind and things that aren’t flowers, too. The snake, for one, that twists around his arm and covers the other side of his wrist, drawing attention with crimson-red eyes. Nobody pays attention to the lone, blue-violet flower, when Molly is covered all across his back and shoulders in so many different types- roses and lilies and zinnias and tulips, everything he can find he makes a point to add. He has, very deliberately, Gustav’s plant tattooed on himself in the same place that Desmond has it, curled at the base of his spine, and it’s the only one he has so low.

 

“Git, Molly.” Gustav wakes Molly with the simple shout, “We’re here. Flyers are in my bag, check, make sure Desmond is still with us.”  
  
Molly turns to hang over the back seat of the car, and yes- he knows that Gustav could check himself, but it’s a wake-up task, Molly waggles his fingers at Desmond in the truck behind, receives a patter and a terse smile in response.  
  
Statistically speaking- Gustav lets Molly out at the top of a hill and he takes a second to stretch- statistically speaking, seaside towns are not their biggest fans. They like the fayre part of the carnival, rides and stalls and lights and food. But it comes to the circus, the carnival, and it’s a lost art! Truly, truly a lost art.  
  
Maybe this town will be different, he muses, as he straightens his coat and heads into a gas station, saunters to the counter and leans on the desk, waggling a pack of gum in two fingers, waving the stack of flyers with his other hand.  
  
The clerk looks bored, rings up the purchase of forty-nine pence and Molly puts the penny in the charity pot, pockets the gum and switches so that the arm on the counter is the one with the flyers.  
  
“What would it take, do you think, to persuade you to let me put one of these fine flyers in your window?”  
  
The clerk rolls their eyes,  
  
“S’pose you’d have t’ talk to my manager. She’s the one that approves the flyers, but she ain’t in right now- d’you want the number?”  
  
“Hm. Is she going to be in any time today? I’d rather come back.”  
  
Molly’s phone lies in broken-glass pieces six months and three towns back. Rough areas, lately, not so much fond of Mollymauk being Mollymauk.  
  
“Uh, yeah. She’s workin’ the counter later on, y’can come back then.”  
  
“Spot on, great, thank you.” Molly beams, “Now, I’m new to town- where’s the closest place to get some nice hot food?”

 

The clerk directs Molly down the hill, it’s a steep one, a supermarket at the bottom with a restaurant that she hears makes something half-decent. And then a restaurant-bar, just across the street, if he doesn’t mind microwave re-heated. Chip shop, too, if he’s the patience for another short walk. Lots of food places in this rough town.

 

Molly drops by the supermarket first, the restaurant is closed, so that’s a wasted effort. But he manages to track down and sweet-talk a manager, Dulcie, and leaves three flyers lighter- two for the store, one for Dulcie to show to her friends and family.  
  
Maybe, she suggests, the carnival in this town won’t be an art so lost.  
  
Molly heads to the restaurant-bar next, but it’s too much restaurant, not enough bar for his advertising. He takes a seat, though, something quick to eat and a cheeky cocktail, he manages to palm off another two flyers- one to his waiter, and one to a sweet passerby with a small child intrigued by Molly’s brightly-coloured hair.  
  
Oh, yeah. On that note, he should buy some more hair dye. It’s starting to wash out.

  
He heads back to the gas station, just in time to catch the clerk from before checking out, flipping her coat collar up as she steps out of the store.  
  
“Oh. S’you.”  
  
“Hello again.” Molly bows low, theatrical, and the clerk frowns, gives a strange, confused, bark of a laugh.  
  
“So what are you advertisin’? Y’didnt actually tell me.”  
  
“Oh! Well, miss…”  
  
“Beau. Beauregard.”  
  
“Pleasure to meet you, Beau Beauregard,” he sees her mouth jerk into almost a snarl and smirks, “And may I say, what a fine name! Well, Beau, I am Mollymauk Tealeaf- Molly to my friends- and may I introduce you to-” he whips a flyer out of his sleeve, like a magic trick- “The Fletching and Moondrop Travelling Carnival of Curiosities!”  
  
“Carnival, huh?” Beau takes the flyer when Molly’s offers it, “What, like a fair, or a circus, or…”  
  
“Both! We have fairground attractions, and a circus to complement. I can _not_ recommend it highly enough, we have some _fabulous_ acts.”  
  
“Oh, yeah? An’ what do you do?”  
  
“Me? In the Circus? Oh, no, darling, I’m just the face. The advertisement. The errand boy.” He gives a light laugh, “I run the flyers around. Speaking of, I should shoot and talk to your manager- hope to see you there.” He gives her an exaggerated wink, “We open tomorrow evening.”  
  
“Eh, it’s my day off.” Beau shrugs, “I’ll see what Fjord’s doin’, might drop in.” She eyes Molly suspiciously.  
  
“Oh, two of you? Excellent, excellent.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. If I was to, uh, seek you specifically, where would I look?”  
  
“Oh, all around. I don’t perform, but I drift amongst the fairgrounds keeping check, doing tarot readings, you know. Those things. Fortune teller.”  
  
“Ah, a bullshitter!” Beau grins, “Love that. A’ight, that’s fair. See you tomorrow, Molly.”  
  
“See you tomorrow, Beau!” He calls, as she’s already raising a hand in farewell and jogging for the bus stop- the orange neon of the sign is pulling sluggishly into view.  
  
He catches, on her left hand, a twining row of forget-me-nots, covering the back of her hand, and trailing off up her middle finger.  
  
He rubs, without thinking, at the morning glory on his right wrist.  
Who knows. Maybe he’ll meet the person it corresponds to.  
It’s always a distant hope.

 

Molly is halfway through the flyer stack before most businesses close and he trudges to the marina to find the trailer he’s sharing with Gustav and Desmond.  
  
“Evening, Molly.” Desmond greets as Molly comes in. He closes and locks the trailer door, puts the remaining flyers on the side and groans a response.  
  
Gustav looks over, checks the stack.  
  
“Did well, for the first night.”  
  
“Yeah, folk in this town are friendly enough.” Molly ruffles a hand through his fading hair, “Too friendly, I think. They’ve worn me clean out.”  
  
  
“Are you wanting food?”  
  
“Nuh-uh, no thanks. I ate on the job.”  
  
“Alright, I’ll leave the leftovers in the fridge for you.”  
  
Gustav sweeps his and Desmond’s plates to the main room area, Molly follows and leans on a countertop,  
  
“I’ll take the car out to neighbouring towns and outlying areas tomorrow, alright?”  
  
“Yeah, seems fine. I’ll leave the keys on the side, check in on Ornna before you go. She worries.”  
  
“She saw me, uh…” Molly counts the days on his fingers, “Three days ago. She knows I’m alive.”  
  
“We need to get you a new phone.” Is Gustav’s only, tired reaction, and Molly rolls his eyes. He knows when the conversation is done, though, and moves back to his room to strip out of his coat and shirt and binder and re-dress in pyjamas. Which, admittedly, is just another loose linen shirt and a pair of scruffy shorts that he can’t wear in public any more.  
  
Oh.  
  
He forgot to say goodnight.  
  
So he sticks his head out of his door and calls through, gets his goodnights in return, and closes up his door. Turns. Collapses, face-first onto his little rickety bed.  
  
“One sheep.” He says, aloud, a comfort from his own voice, “Two sheep. Three sheep, four sheep, five sheep…”

 

The last number that Molly remembers his sheep count reaching is three-hundred and forty-six. Which is almost _half_ what it usually is, so maybe something in the sea air is helping, because the Gods only know that it isn’t the lavender bunches Molly hangs in his room in a distant attempt to get to sleep. They’ve never worked, but they smell good, and he can make lavender highlanders with them that taste just divine, so what is he going to do? Throw it out?  
  
He adds to the mental checklist- get more lavender.  
  
He dresses down today, the converse and the skinny jeans that he _likes_ , but not as much as his carnival attire. That being said, though, he only has one kind of _fucking_ shirt, those Gods-awful v-neck hand-me-downs. And the one, _one_ with the ruffled collar that he actually likes.  
  
But that’s for tonight. So he instead chooses one of the shirts with the carnival’s logo on front and back, binds his hair up, checks his ends- could do with a trim- heads on out.

 

Ornna is asleep. She doesn’t answer the door. Or maybe she’s deliberately avoiding Molly the way he’s been avoiding her, ever since she found out about which of the flowers on his body was the _true_ soulmate mark.  
  
She says she’s relieved it’s not her. Because Molly is a little too _masculine_ for her tastes- he laughs at this, lightly, and they’re still friends but it’s awkward. Still awkward.  
He posts a note through her door on the back of one of the flyers, just saying _sorry - m_ , and leaves again.

  
Gustav’s car is a shit pile, but it’s a reliable shit pile. Chugs heartily to life, moves at a decent speed, lets Molly take it around corners at ridiculous angles without sputtering.  
  
He’s in the centre of town on his way out when he spots a vaguely familiar face, slows a little and pulls in by a bus stop to lean out of his window.  
  
“Beau!”  
  
She looks over, spots his wild mess of purple-blue hair and frowns.  
  
He grins.  
  
She pads over, hands in pockets, looking something like angry at being disturbed.  
  
“Hey. Didn’t expect to see ya out, still spreadin’ flyers?”  
  
“I am, as a matter of fact. Where are you out?”  
  
Beau’s frown deepens.  
  
“Next town over. Why?”  
  
Molly shrugs,  
  
“If that’s Bleakburn, I’m headed over myself. Just seein’ if you want a lift.” Molly raises his eyebrows, Beau scoffs,  
  
“I don’t even _know_ y’, Molly, how do I know you ain’t just gonna drive us off a cliff? Plenty of ‘em, ‘round here.”  
  
“That’s fair. Alright, if you’re not interested…”  
  
“No!” Beau lurches forward as Molly pulls back into the car, “No- I- yeah, I suppose you can give me a lift. Saves me money.”  
  
Molly grins as she comes around and slips into the passenger seat, he puts his foot on the gas the moment her belt is buckled.  
  
“Thanks.” Beau says, grudgingly, as Molly tears up a hill.  
  
“It’s repayment for food advice.” He tells her sagely.

  
Molly parks up in a multi-storey, not his favourite place, he far prefers the summer sunlight, but he’ll take what he can get.

“I’m gonna be around a couple of hours.” Molly tells Beau as he cuts the engine off, “If you want a ride back, I can give you one, but you know…”  
  
“Yeah, I mean- if you’re not done when I am, I ain’t waitin’. And I don’t expect you to wait for me, so…”  
  
“That’s fair. Either way, I’ll see you later?” The doors slam as Molly and Beau climb out, Beau thinks for a second.  
  
“Yeah. See ya later.”  
  
Beau disappears. Molly pays for parking.  
  
Puts on his face.

  
Advertisement time.

 

Molly puts up a few flyers on lamp posts around the town, drops off about ten with a very pleasant lady in a jewellery store. He thinks, probably, that he spent too much time with her, but it’s been a while since his last _intriguing_ conversation, she had a lot of worth to say, and offered to take some of the flyers around to her _friends_ businesses. Now, Molly is far past trusting such a promise, but all of her indicators pointed to the truth. Dropped shoulders and easy smile, no tension held in the forehead. And blinking at an even pace- either she’s a _very_ skilled liar, or she’ll do as she’s promised and Molly isn’t ruling out either but he’s tired.  
  
He grabs food in passing, a pastry from one of the chain-store bakeries, and eats as he walks.  
  
The stack of flyers goes down.  
  
Small children stare, amazed, and Molly blesses the Gods above for his hair as he presents their guardians with a flyer and talks gently, excitedly to the children. Oh, yes, he gets many a sour look, but he leaves the children beaming, and there’s nothing better than that.  
  
He spots a piercing store on a back street and decides that, yes, that’s most likely a good idea.  
  
He comes out with a flyer up in their window, a new set of earrings, and a little pot of his favourite hair dye colour. The brand is good, he can pad it out with a little bit of conditioner, and it’ll do all of his hair- no small claim! He has a lot of hair.  


Libraries, Molly muses, are not usually fans of… well. Molly.  
Molly is loud and brightly-coloured and attracts attention.  
Libraries are quieter, more muted, and the librarians just want a quiet life.  
  
But here he is, slipping into a library, making himself as small and silent as he can and slipping along the edges to the desk. 

Oh, where there is no librarian?  
  
That’s… fair. That’s fair. He’ll just have to- look. Why is this library, in particular, making him so nervous? What’s wrong with him?  
  
He spots a shift of movement and hair in the young adult section and moves toward it immediately. Rounding the corner reveals- ah! A librarian! Or he assumes, anyway, by their muted clothing, quiet demeanour, and the fact that they’re placing books from a little trolley back on the shelf.  
  
“Hello.” Molly greets, and the librarian jumps a foot in the air and away from him, presses into the shelf behind them, and flinches away when it begins to creak. Molly jumps in and stabilises it, only two or three books fall off of the other side.  
  
“Sorry! Sorry.” Molly apologises, and rushes to pick them up, he can still see the frightened blue eyes of the librarian tracing him as he moves, checks for their locations, and slips them back in.  
  
“Didn’t mean to alarm you.” Molly tells them.  
  
“You did.” Comes the reply. An accent that Molly can’t place in the two words, but it ruffles down Molly’s spine like stroking a cat- he straightens up a little, theoretical tail wagging.  
  
“Then I am very sorry,” Molly remember he’s meant to be charming, comes around the other side and holds out his hand to shake, “I’m Mollymauk, Molly to my friends.”  
  
The librarian shakes, and Molly thinks he sees the quirk of a smile.  
  
“Caleb Widogast. I do not think that _libraries_ are generally the best place to seek new friends, though.”  
  
And there’s the accent. Molly can place it now- German.  
  
“Ah, I’m more here to ask if you’d put one of these in the window.” Molly pulls a flyer with the flourish of a magician.  
  
Caleb takes the flyer from Molly’s hands, and Molly notices two things.  


First, that Caleb is wearing bandages on his left hand to match the single fingerless glove on his right.  
  
Second, he’s shaking like a leaf. 

  
“Ah- are you alright, Caleb?”  
  
“Hm? Oh, the shaking.” Caleb gives a brief smile, “It is just the shock. So you are from a carnival?”  
  
“I am! We have fairground rides, stalls, food, and of course… the circus.” Theatrical voice, theatrical smile, theatrics, Caleb frowns a little.  
  
“I am sure we can put this up in the window, it should not be a problem.”  
  
Hm. Closed off. Alright.  
  
“I’ll be around the carnival, if you’re in the market for a new friend.” He tries, and Caleb does quirk a small smile.  
  
“How long are you in town?”  
  
“Oh,” Molly waves a hand, “We usually stick around a month or two, depending on business. Circus open at the weekends.”  
  
Caleb eyes the flyer again,  
  
“May I have another of these?”  
  
Molly hands one over, grins,  
  
“So I’m to take it that I’ll see you at the carnival some time?”  
  
“Maybe.” Caleb answers cryptically, twists around Molly and lets him trail him to the window, where Caleb takes some tack from his pocket and sticks the flyer up. “But if you don’t mind, I have work to do, and carnival folk are very distracting.” Caleb taps two fingers to his mouth, a subtle smile as he does so.  
  
Molly notices, with a jolt, the stem of a flower stretching up the middle finger of his left hand.  
  
“Oh, is that your soulmate mark?”  
  
Caleb snatches his hand away, and Molly holds his hands up,  
  
“Okay- sorry. Sorry, pretend I never asked, it’s prying. Not always the best with boundaries, us carnival folk.”  
  
Caleb relaxes a little and sighs,  
  
“Show- show me your-”  
  
Molly presents his left hand. Blank  
  
“Not me. I’m not yours.”  
  
Caleb’s eyes flicker up from Molly’s hand to his face, and his smile quirks.  
  
“Shame.”  
  
Molly thanks everything above that the tone of his skin stops Caleb from seeing exactly how easily he blushes at such a simple comment- his face feels like it’s on _fire_ .  
  
Carefully, he unwinds the bandages from his left hand, draws them back and reveals a little more of the flower with each layer- he pulls them back just enough for Molly to see the majority of the flower, and a hint of a burn scar that he suspects the rest of the bandages hide.  
It’s blue, the colours as stark against Caleb’s pale skin as the morning glory on Molly’s, a spiky, thistle-like plant that has its bloom on the back of his hand, and its stem up his middle finger.  
  
Molly knows that location. It can’t be all that common.  
  
“Have you met them yet?” Molly asks, his voice keeps that edge of awe, and Caleb shakes his head as he begins to wrap up again,  
  
“No, no. You do not meet a lot of people, working in a library. Home is just me, my cat, and my… niece.”  
  
Molly notes the pause. It’s the same pause, same tone as Gustav calling Molly his son.  
  
“Adopted, hm?”  
  
“You can tell?” Caleb gives a breath that could be a laugh, and Molly grins,  
  
“Same tone as- uh- the man that calls me his son. I mean, I just call him Gustav, and he mostly calls me _Molly_ but-”  
  
“I understand, you do not need to explain.” Caleb shakes his head, “You have persuaded me. The carnival, it opens tonight?”  
  
“It does!” Molly’s grin grows, “You’re coming?”  
  
“Ah, with such an extravagant advertiser, how could I not?” Caleb rolls his eyes, “Shoo, Mollymauk, you are keeping me from my work.”  
  
Molly bids Caleb goodbye, catches sight of him fastening the bandages and remembers- the flower. The same place as Beau’s.  
It couldn’t be.  
Could it?  
Molly shrugs to himself and moves to the next place, re-secures his charm, and goes in.

 

Beau is leaning against his car when he gets back to it.  
  
“You’re taking me up on my offer, then?”  
  
“Don’t have the money for the bus.” She gives him a distant smirk, and he rolls his eyes.

 

“Molly, do you need me to wash your binder?” is the first thing that Gustav says when Molly walks in, and he gives a brief bark of laughter,  
  
“You can wash the expensive one? I was thinking of wearing that for opening night, so…”  
  
“Sure.” Gustav rinses down his hands, “Bring it through.”  
  
Molly does. It’s his favourite binder, oil-spill black glitter, and full-length too, much nicer to the one rib that isn’t so much a fan of his tank binders.  
It was also a very expensive gift from Gustav.  
  
“Lavender oil?” Gustav asks, as Molly hands it over. And Molly smiles, a little crooked,  
  
“That would be great.”  
  
“Go and see Ornna. It’ll be done when you get back.” Gustav orders, and Molly groans quietly.  
  
“Unless she ignores me again.” He mutters, as he slips out of the door, and Gustav turns sharply, but the latch has already clicked closed.  
  
“Leave him be.” Desmond says slowly from the main room, daubing his sponge into the face paint for the evening, “You know what soulmate marks can leave you like.”  
  
Gustav sighs, only sighs, in his response.

 

Molly doesn’t go to see Ornna.  
  
Molly wanders around the stalls, helping to set up where he’s asked or sees struggle. He hangs the fake cobwebs in the haunted house. He makes sure the tracks of the ghost train are swept clean, the seats of the carriage polished. He hangs the prizes in the hook-a-duck stalls, sets up the dart boards, helps the wiring for the bouncy castle pumps.  
  
And then tests the bouncy castles.  
  
Jester joins him, crawls in the entrance and laughs wildly, “Look!” she calls to him, “I was birthed in _reverse_!” and falls flat on her face. Molly chuckles, front flips his way toward her with shocking ease and bends to cushion the last bounce, holds a hand out toward Jester,  
  
“Need some help?”  
  
“I’ll pull you over.” Jester grunts, but lifts a hand to his anyway, allows Molly to pull her to her feet. Some difficulty, of course, of course. Molly isn’t the strongest of the circus- that honour falls to Jester- but he does the job and nearly gets knocked off of his feet as she begins her bouncing.  
  
They both contest one another, somersaults and heights and backflips and all of the gymnastics they could ever think of, handsprings in a bouncy castle surprisingly difficult, until a sharp cough.  
  
“Ah.” Molly stops and lets himself fall. “Sorry.”  
  
“I should think so. Come on, Molly, Jester, git.” Gustav leans through the slit entrance, and both of the accused slip over with minimal bouncing, Gustav holds the slit open and they both scoot out.  
  
“Now I am being _re-birthed_.” Jester whispers to Molly as they slide down to their shoes.  
  
Molly stifles a giggle.

 

“It’s like you’re _twelve_ .” Gustav chastises as he leads both Molly and Jester up to the circus tent, still being hoisted into place. Molly grins, knows he means it light-heartedly.  
  
“I like to have fun.” Molly shrugs with one arm, puts the other around Jester’s shoulders.  
  
“You like to distract our slackliner, you mean.” Gustav’s snark makes Molly snort, and Jester puts an arm around Molly’s waist in protest,  
  
“It isn’t hard to distract me! It’s not Molly’s fault! And I was practicing…”  
  
“On a _bouncy castle_?” Gustav turns so she can see his raised eyebrows, “That’s a lot more space than a slackline.”  
  
“It’s _fine_ , I’ll be _fine_.” Jester flutters a hand, “Watch-”  
  
“Jester, no-”  
  
She takes off for the slackline poles, and Gustav has to throw himself on her back to get her to stop.  
  
“They’re not secured yet.”  
  
Molly grins as they begin to argue and looks over the ocean at the position of the sun. They have about two hours before sundown.  
  
“I’m going to get changed.” He calls to Gustav, receives a quick gesture in reply. So he slips away

  
  
Molly’s _getting ready_ involves hammering on Ornna’s trailer door,  
  
“Ornna! I need you to dye my hair! Ornna!”  
  
And, miraculously, the door cracks open.  
  
“ _Now_ you want my attention. You’ve been ignoring my texts-”  
  
“You know I don’t have a phone any more.” Molly tilts and puts one hand to his hip, cocks his head, “Is this what the problem is?”  
  
Ornna blinks at him and opens the door properly. She’s half-dressed in her show outfit, the shimmery, tight faux-leather pants, and the straps of the matching tank top.  
  
“You need your hair dyed?” She ignores the question, and Molly chooses to, too. He nods.  
  
“Alright. Come on, make it quick.” And steps out, past him, makes him jog to catch up.  
  
He has to fight hard not to fall asleep when Ornna dyes his hair. It’s all very relaxing, after all, having her run her fingers through his hair, spreading the blue-purple dye as evenly as she possibly can.  
  
“Done.” She tells him as she massages the last of it into his pale hair, the roots always take easier than the rest of it for him. Molly lets her pile it all onto his head, and stretches as he sits up.  
  
“Thanks.” He tells her.  
  
“S’fine.” She gets in as she slips out and calls a half-hearted goodbye. Molly goes to take a shower, rinses all of the purple from himself and appreciates the way that he accidentally dyes his skin that surreal purple, just a tint, just enough to convince small children that he’s otherworldly.  
  
And then it’s time to dress.  
  
He keeps his hair in a towel as he slips first into his binder, newly washed and dried and far easier to climb into than pull on. It smells of lavender, and Molly hums happily for it. Then there’s the low ruffled v-neck, the option of laces, almost like a corset.  
He saves a specific pair of ridiculous jeans for opening nights, too- patterned extravagantly in three shades of blue and one purple- and the embroidered coat he favours so much. He drapes himself in jewels, piles on the necklaces and gold-coloured bangles and earrings and braids the chains of glittering glass gems into pieces of his hair before he ties it back.  
  
He checks himself in the darkening glass- the only mirrors in the trailer are the bathroom and the main room- and decides that tonight, he’s feeling glitter.  
And you know who has glitter?  
  
Jester.  
  
And also Ornna.  
  
It’s a toss-up of who to go to, what colours is he going for tonight, and he choses Ornna in the end- reds, oranges, golds to offset the blues and greys of a harborside town.  
She opens the door and hands him two pots of gold and red before he can open his mouth, and closes the door again before he can say _thank you_. He calls it through the door anyway.  
  
Molly daubs the glitter on his cheeks like highlighter, a pretty gradient from red on his high cheekbones to gold under his eyes, and that’s it. That’s the _look_ for tonight.  
  
The sky outside is tinged orange. The music is thrumming through the marina. The lights of the fairground are gaudy and bright.  
  
It’s opening night at the carnival.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's opening night at the carnival!

Molly juggles his dignity with his crystal ball, wandering around the carnival with his tarot cards in the holster at his hip, throwing and rolling the glass orb as though it’s feather-light and it _really_ isn’t. It’s fucking heavy.   
He feels his spine crackle as he bends like a willow, curving backwards in a graceful arc until his hair piles under his head and the ache subsides, the crystal ball barely caught in his fingertips and rolled in to safety.   
  
It’s in that position that he spots a familiar face in the crowd and grins as he cups and springs the ball around and up so that he can whip back poker-straight, giving his thighs their much-needed test. He catches the ball above his head in both hands and holds it daintily as he strides, cuts through the crowd like warm knife through butter.   
  
“Beau Beauregard!” His voice cuts as he does, jauntily and through the clamour around him as a ship parts water- a fitting analogy, he thinks, the corner of his eye catching the gently jostling masts in the marina.   
  
She raises a hand to him, and takes the upper arm of a- oh.   
  
Oh, oh dear, oh no.   
  
A larger, very attractive fellow, who looks something like nervous overtop his excitement to being here. And that’s fine. That’s well and good.   
But he’s _hot_ and for all the talk and show, well, Molly is weak to attractive men. And women. And non-binary folk.   
  
Molly is just.   
  
Sort of _weak_.   
  
Beau drags her friend up and shoves Molly’s shoulder playfully, even though, it kind of knocks him almost on his ass. He has to stumble to keep his balance, and there’s a moment of silence between them before she breaks into loud laughter, Molly stabilises, and gives a snort of his own.   
  
“Welcome to the carnival Beau, and…” Molly looks pointedly at her friend.   
  
“Fjord.” He answers, offers Molly a hand that Molly takes enthusiastically.   
  
“Welcome to the carnival, Fjord.” He beams, and Fjord’s head tilts in an interesting way that Molly bookmarks in his brain for later analysis. “Can I offer you a tarot reading?”   
  
“How much?” Beau asks, critical, and Molly flashes her a bright grin,   
  
“For you, darling, as a friend? First time free.”   
  
“Go on, Beau.” Fjord nudges her, “Ain’t got nothin’ to lose.”   
  
“Fine.” Beau pretends to concede, whether her desire is for the reading, or to avoid Molly bothering her, he doesn’t know. But he pulls the cards from his pocket and shuffles, keeps his eyes on Beau.   
  
  
“Some readers may ask you to shuffle the cards yourself. Connect your energy with the deck. I use myself as a _vessel_ , a tube of sorts, to connect _you_ to _my_ deck, by talking and watching. You touch my cards exactly three times- each to pick a card for your past, present, future.”   
  
Molly uses his speech to decide, whether he wants to bullshit this, or let whatever semblance of fate he still believes in kick in and pick Beau’s card for her.   
He decides on fates, holds the deck out without emphasis but with flare, spreads the cards in his hands into an S-shape and smiles,   
  
“Choose three.”   
  
Beau taps one,   
  
“This one first.”   
  
“Past.” Molly affirms, slipping it a little further out with one finger.   
  
“This one, and, this one.” Two more taps, Molly slips them an inch out and collapses the deck, picks the three and places them between his fingers in order of picking.   
  
“Is this right?” He asks, and Beau nods,   
  
“Yeah, that’s good.”   
  
“Alright.”   
  
  
Molly flips all three cards, one after the other, and plasters a grin on his face,   
  
“Ah, a rundown of your life history! So this card- the seven of wands- represents a big change. Something that happened that has forced you to take your future into your own hands, step out and be independant, maybe before you were ready. The card talks of confidence to achieve your desires.”   
  
He winks at Beau, but her mouth has set in a grim line. Oh dear.   
  
‘ _Please_.’ Molly begs the cards. ‘ _Please don’t be what she doesn’t want to hear_.’   
  
“The present card is the five of cups. It can represent a loss that has happened, or a loss that is coming- I would say somewhere in between, for the present slot. There has been a loss, and it is ongoing, and you will experience more in the near future. With the seven of wands in your past, these cards tell you to keep your gaze straight, remain determined- your confidence will get you through.”   
  
There’s an edge, to Beau’s eyes now, she’s fixed Molly with a terrifying stare that is equal parts rage and terror.   
  
“Do you want me to continue?”   
He switches out of his show voice for the question, back to the gentle lilting of his everyday, concern and sweetness in all and Beau’s brow creases, but she nods.   
  
“Yeah. Yeah, go on.”   
  
Molly takes a deep, steadying breath. It always amazes him how much he hasn’t realised the world is spinning until those breaths, and then the world calms again. He puts the showy facade back up.   
  
“Your final card is the eight of cups.” And winces a little, “Following from your sense of loss, this card represents a separation, usually in the physical- it can represent a divorce, a break-up, or even physically moving away from something or someone you cared for.”   
  
Beau twitches. Molly reads the fear and sadness in the tension of her shoulders, her narrowed eyes, the curl of her mouth.   
  
“The past will be left in the past.” Molly’s show voice drops again, back to his lilt. He speaks to her, not as a showman, but as a friend, “But that’s a new beginning. Your confidence and independence will keep you strong, even though it’s a loss you can do nothing about.”   
  
He pauses.   
  
“That’s the end.”   
  
There’s a smattering of applause from a small crowd he hadn’t realised he’d gathered, and Molly looks at Beau, looks at Fjord, looks at the crowd.   
Beau is drawn tense, wound tight, if she could cry, he thinks she would. Fjord’s eyes are locked on Beau- Molly has touched on something tense going on in her life right now, and he’s concerned for his friend. The crowd is a crowd, like sheep, they see only the lights and sounds.   
  
Molly procures a pad of sticky notes and the stub of a pencil from his coat and scratches a quick message, hands it to Fjord with the showman’s smile still in place, and flounces off.   
  
_Fjord,_   
_Crowd’ll follow me. Take her to the tent._   
_Tell the man with long brown hair that Molly sent you._   
_Be up soon._   
_Molly._   
  
It’s signed at the end, like a ticket or a permission slip, and Fjord takes Beau’s upper arm in much the same way she took his, there are a couple of people watching as Beau’s jaw twitches.   
  
“C’mon.” Fjord tells her, “I- uh- I wanna play hook-a-duck.”

 

Molly draws the majority of the crowd with him when he leaves, hopes Fjord can do the rest.  
He’s halfway through losing them in a winding, maze-like trail around the stalls when he almost bumps into another familiar face.   
  
“Caleb!” Molly beams, “I- I’m so glad you came.” And leans in a little closer, “I’m _really very sorry_ to do this, but I need an out. I need to get to the tent without being bothered by my little crowd.”   
  
The aforementioned crowd has turned a corner, pottering after Molly,   
  
“ _Help_.” Molly hisses, and Caleb’s eyes widen briefly.   
  
“I- of course- Nott-?”   
  
A girl, a teenager, she can’t be more than seventeen but Molly would put her younger, she turns from a nearby jewellery stall with wild hair and wide eyes and a grin and something shiny. Caleb doesn’t have time to roll his eyes.   
  
“How quick are you feeling today?”   
  
“Um- pretty quick? I-” she holds up the shiny thing, a necklace, Caleb makes a noise that Molly can’t place emotionally.   
  
“ _Caleb, Caleb, Caleb._ ” Molly shifts from foot to foot, Caleb’s eyes trace him.   
  
“Play distraction. That group- Molly, come.” Caleb takes Molly’s wrist and pulls and Nott is already out of sight, and then there’s a soft crash and thud and wail and Molly is gone before he can get more than a glance of Nott splayed out on the ground, in front of Molly’s crowd, sobbing about being tripped. Heads are turning, and Molly is gone. Swept away by Caleb, off behind the tents where there’s far fewer people, and only when someone walks past without looking does Caleb let go of Molly’s wrist.   
  
“I- I- sorry-” Caleb gestures to where Molly is rubbing a thumb idly over the skin he’s just released, “I couldn’t think-”   
  
“Darling there’s no need to apologise at all.” Molly waves a hand, “That was perfect. Will- Nott?”   
  
“My niece.” With a quirked smile, and Molly feels a twitch of something inside. Caleb suits a smile.   
  
“Will she be okay?”   
  
“I’m _fine_ , I’m not a child.” And she’s on Molly’s other side. Molly jumps, a foot in the air and three back, panting heavily, thankful that his crystal ball is secure in his pocket. Nott giggles, Caleb rolls his eyes.   
  
“That was very neatly done, Nott, did you scrape anything?” Caleb comes to her, produces a pack of wipes from his pocket and Nott nods,   
  
“Knees, one elbow, bleeding a little but that helped. I raised hell, it’s chaos over there.”   
  
“I need to get to the tent, really, as soon as possible. But you’re welcome to come with me for some tea or- or something?”   
  
“I, think that we will, if only to make sure you get there. Perhaps you could persuade the ghost train to let Nott ride for free, in exchange?”   
  
Nott is vibrating behind Caleb, and Molly grins. Jasper, owner of the ghost train, owes Molly a favour anyway. Molly was up cleaning the rails, and that’s a rough job.   
  
“I’m sure that can be done.” he lilts, and Nott beams for it as Molly turns away toward the tent, “I’ll speak with Gustav, see if I can’t get some kind of reward. Off we go, then.”   
Caleb and Nott fall into step behind him.

 

Gustav catches Molly’s eye at the tent.  
  
“Trailer.” is all he gets to say before he’s sweeping introductions, and Molly waves a hand at Nott and Caleb, leads them to his trailer. It’s quiet in there, only one light on, and Molly makes the assumption that this is where Beau and Fjord are now.   
  
He takes all three of the steps up to the door and holds it open behind him, Caleb’s fingers brush the heel of his hand when he reaches out to hold it.   
  
“I have it.” he tells Molly softly, lets Nott in first, and follows through to the main room, where Beau is leaning her head on Fjord’s shoulder and is otherwise folded up- arms crossed over her knees, drawn up to her chest on the long sofa that spans the entire end of the room. They’re both packed as tight to one side as they possibly can, Fjord on his phone, and though it seems like he’s ignoring Beau, Molly gets the feeling that this is preferable for her.   
  
“Hey.” Molly greets as he slips in, waves a hand at them.   
  
“Molly, y’made it.” Fjord looks up from his phone, and Molly looks over his shoulder,   
  
“Sit anywhere, Gustav won’t mind. Just mind the mirror.”   
  
Nott sits immediately at the little table, poking timidly through the glitter that Molly has left and watching to see when his eyes are off of her.   
  
Caleb leans over as he passes,   
  
“ _Not too much_.” And goes to sit at the other end of the sofa, Molly plonks himself between them.   
  
“Uh.” Molly starts, and tries again, “Beau?”   
  
“I’m good, Molly, don’t worry.” Beau mumbles from Fjord’s shoulder. “Y’brought new people?”   
  
“Oh,” Molly turns to Caleb, “Yeah, this is Caleb, and that’s Nott. Nott, you know you can just… have some glitter, right? You don’t have to steal it.”   
  
Nott looks over, fingers glittering from being poked in the pots and her eyes wide.   
  
“I-”   
  
“Do you want to wear some? I can apply it for you?” Molly rolls his shoulders a little, they’re aching, and Nott’s wide eyes turn to Caleb. Molly sees Caleb nod, out of the corner of his eye, and Nott turns back.   
  
“Would you?”   
  
  
So Molly heads over and begins pattering the glitter on in a gradient like his own, red to gold, and Nott tries very hard not to fiddle and shift as he works, tilting his head this way and that.   
Whilst he does, Caleb scoots up the sofa.   
  
“I- how did _you_ get here? Because I don’t- I really don’t know how _I_ got here.” He says to Beau and Fjord without really looking, and Fjord chuckles low, nervous, 

“I don’t know, Molly an’ Beau seem t’ be, uh. Gettin’ along?”   
  
“He’s a dick and I hate him.” Beau says softly, with no heart behind it, and Caleb smiles. Beau looks over to him for the first time and startles upright,   
  
“Oh _shit_ , you’re the librarian! In- uh- in Bleakburn.”   
  
“I am _one_ of the librarians.” Caleb corrects, “There is- There’s Yasha, too.”   
  
“Oh, there’s another of you?” Molly looks over from his work thumbing glitter onto Nott’s cheek, “I didn’t meet them. They should come to the carnival.” and turns back.   
  
“Yasha is… something like reclusive, she does not talk often to those she is not already familiar with.”   
  
“I already love her.” Molly’s grin is visible from the sofa, “You’ll have to introduce me before I leave.”   
  
Caleb drums against the sofa.   
  
“I will try.”   
  
  


They stay in the trailer for less than half an hour as Beau recollects herself, Molly applies Nott’s glitter, and Caleb tries very, very hard not to panic at such an unfamiliar situation. He does well, he thinks, betrayed only by the white-knuckle grip he has on the chair that Molly glances over and sees, flashes a quick look to Caleb’s face. Caleb meets his eyes only briefly, and then looks away, and Molly finishes the slim little spiral he’s been working on.  
  
“I still owe you,” he pats Nott’s shoulder, “A ghost train ride, but how about a good view of the circus acts?” This to the rest of them, and Fjord shares a brief look with Beau,   
  
“Sure, sounds fine t’ us.”   
  
“I want to! Caleb?” Nott chirrups and checks in the same breath, and Caleb’s fingers flex and release.   
  
“That would be a welcome distraction.”   
  
“Then let’s go! My friend, Jester, her act is _amazing_ , I hope we’re in time to catch it.” 

They begin to filter out as a group, slowly pouring out of the door. Molly locks it behind them.   
  
“What does she do?” Nott asks as she comes around Caleb to his other side, and Molly gives her that showman’s smile.   
  
“She’s a slackliner. She does tricks, handstands, jumps, gymnastics, all on something similar to a tightrope.” 

“She does _handstands_ on a fuckin’ _rope_ ?” Beau gapes, and Molly sweeps to the head of the party again, leading the way back to the tent.   
  
“It’s a sort of elastic, nylon-ish material but that’s the gist of it, yeah.” Molly rounds them to a rear entrance, and is stopped at the slit by Bosun, holding a hand up to his shoulder, 

“Hold up, Molly. Company?”   
  
“Saviours.” Molly gives his most beaming smile, “Got into a spot of bother again, you know how easy it is to fall in love with me.” 

Bosun stares, levelly, at Molly, unspeaking and unblinking. 

“I also owe the small one a ride on the Ghost Train. Nott, show Bo your elbow?” he makes sure to give the lilt of request rather than the harsh tone of demand- judging from what he’s seen of Nott, she wouldn’t take kindly to being ordered around. Nott presents her elbow, no longer bleeding but scraped a good two inches.   
  
“I’m a _very_ good distraction.” She preens. 

Bo studies them, studies Molly, and sighs.   
  
“If Gustav gets mad-”   
  
“It’s all my fault, darling, I know. Thank you.”   
  
Bo pulls the flap back, and Molly guides his little band into the circus tent.

  
 

Ornna is performing when they settle themselves on the chairs that Molly drags from under the seating stage and crams into an empty space. They sit Nott right in the middle of them all, Fjord and Molly at either end. And Molly gets the beautiful privilege of sitting with one Caleb Widogast, gets to watch as those bright blue eyes follow Ornna around the stage as she turns her cartwheels one-handed, flaming fans twirling in the free hand.  
  
Caleb is breathless at her performance, Molly is breathless at Caleb, everything feels as though it’s just a little out of sync and tilted and it’s not a sensation that Molly particularly likes, but it’s addictive.

“Mollymauk?” Caleb says softly, and the applause tells Molly that Ornna’s performance has ended, Caleb’s eyes are on Molly and oh dear.  
  
Oh, oh dear.   
  
Mollymauk Tealeaf is a bisexual disaster.   
  
Caleb Widogast is _very_ pretty.   
  
“Molly?” Caleb tries again when all he gets is the slight widening of Molly’s mismatched eyes and a puff of breath, “Are you okay?”   
  
“I- Yeah, sorry, just. Um.” Molly shakes his head, “Yeah.”   
  
“They announced the slackliner for the next performance. Is this your friend?”   
  
“Jester!” all semblance of awkwardness forgotten, Molly turns toward the stage, where the lights from above have dimmed. A spotlight crawls from the centre to the doorway, and Molly’s grin turns breathless.   
  
It doesn’t matter how many times he sees it, Jester always leaves him this way. Wracked with adoration and worry for her, pained by the desire to run out into the ring in case she falls, to catch her, to hold and soothe.   
Jester appears in the entrance, glimmering and sequined and glittery, hair braided back and into a loop, entwined with little strings of crystal that catch the spotlight and shimmer.   
  
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Molly says softly to Caleb, leaning in so that he can keep his voice quiet. Caleb leans closer, feels Molly’s hair brush his own,   
  
“She is certainly stunning, _ja_.” 

Molly leans in to Caleb, distracted and fond of the physical, and Caleb lets him shuffle into laying his head on Caleb’s shoulder, and though he freezes for just a split second before he relaxes, Molly shifts up.   
  
“I should have asked.” Jester is climbing up to the slackline’s stands.   
  
“I- yes, I would have appreciated, warning, but- I don’t think I mind.”   
  
“You’re sure it’s okay? You don’t… really know me.”   
  
Caleb shrugs, eyes on Molly instead of the glittery blue performer climbing dexterously in the centre of the tent. Molly smiles for him, and is blessed with a small smile in return.   
  
“We will miss the performance, Mollymauk- I assure you, I don’t mind.”   
  
Molly settles back on Caleb’s shoulder just in time to catch Jester pulling herself up to the top with the two bars set up and pulling and pulling, until she’s upright, like a handstand, and then curving over herself to stand on the platform. She waves to cheers, brightly, excitedly, holds her arms up and dazzles with the glitter and shimmer of her jewellery and makeup.   
Caleb feels Molly grin against his shoulder, and when he sneaks a look out of the corner of his eye, Molly’s eyes are fixated on Jester at the top.   
  
Jester begins her routine, and Molly must have seen it a hundred times before, but it never fails to amaze him. All of those bounces and handsprings and flips and tricks on a two-inch elastic strip, forty feet up. He would worry for her, and he does a little, but he would worry far more if he didn’t know how well-practiced each move was. Performed low at first, working the height up, approved as safe by Gustav- all important factors. 

Jester comes back to the middle and, rocking back and forth for balance, fiddles to turn on the little mic attached to her leotard.   
  
“You’re a _great_ crowd tonight, folks!” Jester’s accented voice fills the tent, and Molly sits up, confused; usually, Jester’s performance is silent, she doesn’t talk unless she needs help. Already, he can see a few of the staff members of the carnival taking out the collapsible safety trampolines and holding, in case Jester’s words betray a need for them.   
“And for such a _great_ crowd, I'd like to perform a trick that has never before been seen on this line!" Jester calls to the crowd with a flourish, "I was practicing earlier on a bouncy castle, which, as our ringmaster says, has a lot more space than a slackline!"

There's cheers and murmurs as Jester moves into place, Molly's fingers find Caleb's arm and squeeze to painful point,

 

"It's not an approved trick." He tells Caleb, panicked. Caleb’s wide eyes turn to him.

 

"It's not an approved trick! Jester!" And Molly is up up and bolting as she handsprings and flips and mis-lands and _oh, shit, no_ , she’s slipping-   
“ _Jester!_ ” Molly’s voice is a screech, he sees Ornna on the other side of the tent and sees the shape of his name on her lips, and it’s all a blur of space and time and if he hadn’t started running so early, they would never have gotten to Jester in time, Ornna’s safety trampoline makes it into Molly’s hands in just the split-second before Jester hits it and   
  
Molly’s wrist screams in agony at the very wrong angle, but Jester bounces once, twice, and lands on her feet the third time, low enough for her momentum not to break anything and she stands, looks from Ornna to Molly to Gustav.   
  
“And I’d like to thank my _beautiful_ assistants!” She calls into her mic, and Ornna and Molly fall into line.   
  
She’s playing off the mistake as purposeful. 

As though it was _intended_.   
  
They both smile and wave as Jester does, and all three split to different exits of the stage.   


  
Molly comes back to Caleb and Beau,   
  
“That was _incredible!_ Nott chirrups as the music picks back up for the next act, beaming at Molly as he comes closer.   
  
Molly cradles his injured wrist to his chest and smiles weakly back at her.   
  
“I really thought she was going to die! But you and- and the fire fairy- you got there _just_ in time-”   


  
He hears Nott’s chirpy ramble go on, but she’s moved to talking more to Fjord now, Molly sits down and Caleb turns to him.   
  
“What happened? With your wrist?” And holds his hand out for Molly’s, Molly tentatively holds it out,   
  
“The trampoline was too quick, I couldn’t get into the safe grip and it put too much strain on my wrist.”   
  
Caleb hums, gently, and runs his thumb over Molly’s wrist gently. Inspects, instructs Molly to move his fingers, to try bending his wrist,   
  
“I don’t think that you’ve broken or dislocated it.” He tells Molly, “It is most likely sprained, or you _did_ dislocate it, but it has popped back into place by itself. Either way, you need to keep it bound, in a sling ideally, and not use it for at least a couple of days. You should see a doctor, too.”   
  
“I- around here? I would have to go to… a hospital.” Molly shrugs, Caleb gently sets his wrist on his lap and pats his fingertips to the heel of Molly’s hand.   
  
“Stay.” he demands. 

Molly keeps his hand in Caleb’s lap. He has to lean in a little, but that’s fine.   
  
Caleb begins unwinding the bandages from his left hand, slowly, but surely, passing the flower, revealing the edge of the old burn scars, and he keeps going. Until he manages to get it all unwound, pooling everything in his lap.   
  
“Caleb?” Molly says, quietly, and Caleb’s eyes flicker up to find Molly looking at the burns. 

“It was… an old mistake of mine. I do not like to talk of it.”   
  
“Understood.” Molly says, and shuts his mouth as Caleb picks Molly’s arm up and behind carefully binding his wrist with the bandages.   
  
“I only wear them to hide my scars, and they are years old. So they aren’t _dirty_ , but you should look into sterile bindings, when we are done here.”   
  
Molly gets the sense that Caleb is mostly talking to hide his nerves. That’s fine. Molly likes the way that Caleb’s voice sounds.   
Caleb wraps.   
  
“I am trying to bind your wrist to minimise movement, it should not be too tight, but comfortably so. I think the best way to explain it would be to liken it to a hug? If it is too loose, or too tight, I ask that you tell me so that I can fix it. How am I doing?”   
  
“You’re very warm.” Molly mumbles, distracted, and he’s not wrong- Caleb’s hands _are_ warm, it’s very pleasant and Molly is falling away into it. Caleb snaps his fingers in front of his face.

“Focus, Mollymauk. How is your wrist?”  
  
“It hurts.” Molly sobers, and Beau leans over, wiggling a little cardboard box.   
  
“Paracetamol. Don’t take ibuprofen, swelling is good for sprains.”   


Molly takes the box with his spare hand, sees Caleb smile a little, tilted over Molly’s arm. As Caleb wraps, Molly takes the pill tray out one-handed, pops out two, and tips his head back to throw them right down his throat. He swallows, hands the box back, and Caleb pauses, frowns,   
  
“You shouldn’t take pills dry. They can chemically scar the back of your throat.”   
  
“Oh, then I’ll keep that in mind. I use the back of my throat for far more important things.”   
  
Caleb’s hands flex and splutter as he does, his own breath catching in his throat and making him choke and Molly laughs lightly as he leans around and pats Caleb’s back.   
  
“I- it is more, your esophagus but- _Mollymauk_ , really!” Caleb sputters and coughs and Molly fights down his laughter for Caleb’s benefit. His hands shake with the shock of it, but he finishes the bandages and ties them off, shaking his head as he releases Molly’s wrist and sits back upright.   
  
“You know, Caleb, I like you.” Molly muses pleasantly, as the surprise of Molly’s gag wears off, “We should hang out, outside of the carnival, outside of work.” 

Nott looks at Caleb, delighted, and Caleb rolls his eyes and smiles,   
  
“So, working in the library has managed to snag me a new friend, hm?”   
  
“If that’s what you’d like to call me, then yes.” Molly grins, “Is that a yes?” 

“ _Ja_ , that is a yes. Do you- do you have a phone number?”   
  
Ah.   
Molly frowns.   
  
“My, um- my phone. Kind of got destroyed, a while ago.”   
  
“Ah. Then we should organise now, and just hope that we stick to it in the morning?” Caleb leans in closer to hush his voice to Molly, the next performance underway.   
  
“You know the area far better than I do.” Molly replies, his shoulder pressed to Caleb’s and his voice as hushed as his new friend’s.   
  
“There is, in Bleakburn, there is a nice, sort of theatre, and they have a café-restaurant with excellent food. Perhaps there?”   
  
“Sounds like a _date_ , Caleb,” Molly leans forward to put his chin in his good hand, “Are you asking me on a _date_ , less than a day after meeting me?”   
  
Caleb gives a laugh but- oh, no, that’s not the sound he’s meant to make. That sound is forced and bitter. Molly doesn’t like that sound.   
  
“I have never been on a date, Mollymauk, if that is a date then I apologise. We can do something- something else-?”   
  
“No, no, darling, I’m sorry.” Molly soothes and picks himself back up, reaches over tentatively to lay his palm over Caleb’s soulmate mark. Caleb relaxes, immediately, whether from the touch or from the re-covering of something he clearly dislikes, Molly doesn’t know. But he relaxes, and that’s the important thing.   
  
“So tomorrow, the theatre. What time?”   
  
“How does- does mid-day sound to you?”   
  
“Sounds wonderful.” Molly smiles, and when they both sit back into their chairs to watch, Molly keeps his hand over Caleb’s.

 

He doesn’t spot the way Beau’s eyes have locked on to the eryngium, even though it’s covered by Molly’s hand, now.   
Fjord does. Fjord sees her look from Caleb’s newly hidden mark to her own.   
  
“Oh.” He says, softly, and she turns with wide and horrified eyes to him.   
“Fjord.” Her voice is a hoarse, panicked whisper.   
  
“I know.” He says.   
  
“Fjord. I don’t- I don’t like-”   
  
“I know.”   
  
“ _Boys_.” Beau huffs and sits back and tucks her little trail of forget me nots under her arm and thoroughly out of sight.   
  
“I know.” Fjord sighs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do wanna note that whilst this au is ABSOLUTELY "romantic soulmates are bs and fuck you about it" thats like... a curve that most of 'em have to adapt to  
> it'll come around in-fic eventually <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flower is more of a problem than he thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder it's set in England- chips are those fat soft potato fries and not the thin crispy ones

Beau and Fjord make their excuses to leave soon after the circus finishes its closing act. Molly comes to Beau, quiet, under Fjord and Nott exchanging goodbyes.

“Hey, uh, two things.” He says, and she shifts nervously,

“What?”

“First. That tarot stuff- sorry, if I read too close to home. I should have bullshitted it, I didn’t think that they would- you know?”

“I don’t believe in any of that shit.” Beau scoffs, jerks her chin, “It’s all fake anyway. You were just lucky.”

  
That hurts Molly in little ways he can’t quite make words for.

   
“Right. Well. Second, Caleb- uh-”

“I’ve seen.” Beau’s faux confidence is gone. Her voice is quiet.

Molly doesn’t fucking like it.

“You’ve seen?”

Beau’s left hand comes up, she scratches, awkwardly, at her collarbone, under her necklace.

“Yeah. Problem is, Molly, you’ve been here, like, a day? You can’t play matchmaker for us.”

“Oh.” Molly says, as he realises what she must be thinking, “Oh, shit, Beau, no-” and laughs, muffles it with his hand when Caleb looks over and cocks his head, confused.

“What?” Beau demands, her hand drops, balled now in protest. Molly pulls the sleeve of his right shoulder down, exposes the tattoos, the flowers there.

“Soulmates, Beau? They’re fucking _bullshit_. Oh, it’s meant to be someone you’re in love with? _Also_ bullshit. See this one?” he turns, pulls the back of his shirt and binder up, and the band of his pants down to reveal the furled fern at the base of his spine, Beau winces and peeks with one eye. 

“Oh?”

“It’s Gustav’s plant. The ringmaster. I got this from Desmond, the performer with the black-and-white face paint. They’re not in love, they’re not dating, they know one another better than anyone else, so they’re soulmates.”  
Beau gives a soft sound of surprise. 

“The hardest part of this is convincing the other person that it’s not always romantic. He hasn’t seen yet, and if you don’t want him to know, I won’t tell him.”

“Uh. No. No, I don’t want him to know, I’ll- I’ll find somethin’ to do, sometime. Get his number or somethin’.”

“Seems smart. Stay safe, Beau, see you soon?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think you will- your carnival’s kinda shite, but you’re uh… hm…” She pauses to think, “An asshole to rival me. Don’t get those often.”

Molly’s serious expression cracks into a sunshine-bright grin,

“Fuck you, Beau!”

“Fuck you, Molly.” She smiles back, tucks her left hand into her pocket and waves a middle finger with her right as she leaves, goes to Fjord and Nott, and Caleb drops in beside Molly instead.

 

“Mollymauk?” Caleb says, softly, and Molly turns and tilts his head,

“Yes, darling?”

“What- _where_ is your soulmate mark?” 

Molly lifts his bandaged arm, taps the inside of his wrist.

“Morning glory. Right here.”

Caleb goes very very still and silent.

“Oh.” He says. “That’s an interesting location. It- must be common.”

“I’ve never met anyone with it there.” Molly shrugs, “S’alright, it was there when I woke up, so it’s not really… mine.”

Caleb’s eyes shoot from Molly’s bandages to Molly’s face.

“You have not met your soulmate?”

Molly laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that Caleb knows is forced and strained with the edge of mania.

“Darling, I don’t _have_ a soulmate.” And his smile is too bright, too wide, too much teeth, “I’m not _real_ , Caleb!” 

It’s a shocking twist, such a change for Molly that Caleb feels compelled to step in and take Molly’s hands, gently, both of them.

“You feel real to me.” he says softly, “You feel… solid.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know.” Molly smiles, lopsided and sad and distant, “Less than a day, you know? Maybe one day. Maybe you have to level up the friendship first.”  
Caleb laughs, it’s really more of a soft breath than a true laugh but it’s there. 

“I look forward to it.”  
  
He lets go of Molly’s hands.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Molly asks, as Caleb takes a step back and smiles for him.  
  
“Tomorrow.” Caleb promises.  
  
He collects Nott with an arm around her shoulders, and guides her away. A few moments, later, Fjord jogs after them, and Beau heads off in the opposite direction.

Molly turns on his heel, buries his face in his hands, and sighs. Yelps, a little, at the sudden pressure on his wrist. And then sighs again.

 

Gustav would kill him, if he had the heart to. Molly comes in late, a tiny, cheap bottle of wine in the fingers of his good hand, drinking idly to drown out the pain and the night. It’s past one in the morning.  
  
“No drinking on the job.” Gustav snaps, pulls the bottle from his hand when Molly comes into the main room, “You need to talk to Jester. She could have been _seriously hurt_ .” 

“She wasn’t.” Molly protests, whines, and his bad wrist comes up instinctively, clenches into a fist as Molly slips into a position reminiscent of a fight.

“I know.” Gustav’s tone softens, and Molly stops clenching his fists. His bad wrist aches with the sudden strain.

“She could have been.” Molly says, “But she wasn’t.”

“That’s thanks to you and Ornna.” Gustav soothes, and Molly’s gaze drops away. “You hurt your wrist?”

Ah, shit. He’d forgotten to mention it to Gustav.  
Which is to say, he didn’t want Gustav to know. 

“Yeah.” Molly says, trying to sound offhanded, “A friend bandaged it. He thinks it’s a sprain, said I should see a doctor.”

“He’s probably right.” Gustav muses, “Does it hurt?”

“I’ve taken paracetamol.” Molly gives in attempt at a cryptic answer, and Gustav sighs.

“Alright, then bed. I’ll re-bandage it in the morning. Sleep is the best you can do right now.”

“Thanks, Gustav.” Molly doesn’t manage to hide the bitter edge to his tone. Gustav doesn’t comment.

“Goodnight, Molly.”

Molly doesn’t say it back, brat that he is, and slips away into his bedroom to shed his clothes- the binder with difficulty- and change into his pyjamas, staring out of his tiny window at the ocean beyond.   
He never shuts the solitary curtain. He likes the light and the view too much. 

Having it closed makes the room claustrophobic.

  


He’s back to the skin-tone tank binder for his not-date with Caleb, takes Gustav’s car with reluctant gratitude and skips on out to Bleakburn nice and early. His hair is still soft and clean from the night before, but he feels the need for more lavender scents, so he goes looking for those. And when he finds them, little bottles of lavender perfume in a tiny gift store, he barely has the cash to fork over and still be able to pay for food. But he buys one, makes sure that _lavender_ is what he smells of and smiles for it. He likes lavender. 

He likes lavender a lot.

He manages to find the theatre with relative ease and a few questions, and gets there fifteen minutes before he’s due to meet Caleb.  
Despite his timely nature, Caleb is leaning against the side of the building when Molly arrives, looking one way and the other and startling when he sees Molly. 

“You are early.” Caleb says with the hint of a smile.

“You were earlier.” Molly grins, and Caleb shakes his head in defeat.

“I suppose you are right. Are you hungry? When did you last eat?”

Uh.  
Shit. 

When _did_ Molly last eat? It was around this time the day before, the chain-store bakery, if he remembers right. And the day before that was his last actual meal.   
  
“If it is taking you this long to answer, I have some concerns.” Caleb says gently, and Molly shrugs with a grin,   
  
“Carnival folk, you know?” 

“That is not an excuse, Mollymauk. Come. How often are you free?”

Molly follows Caleb into the restaurant of the theatre, high ceilings, white paint, gold detailing.

“I work most nights, but not often during the day. And Thursdays are my night off.” Molly rambles off his work schedule as though it’s practiced, and really, it is.   
Caleb settles them at a two-person table by a window. 

“I- I know, that I may seem somewhat desperate, I do not have many friends but- um.” Caleb fiddles, hands on the desk, and Molly spots a new layer of bandages over his left hand.

He leans out, settles a hand over Caleb’s bandaged one.

“It’s okay. You don’t need to be nervous.”

“It’s not something that I can help.” Caleb gives him a flash of a smile, “Even those that- that know me best, Yasha, Nott, sometimes I find myself anxious asking anything of them, too. I am… working on it. But I wanted to ask if you- would you, perhaps, be interested in… being my friend?”

Molly squeezes Caleb’s hand in time with his heart twinging in pain.   
This poor man. 

“I already consider you a friend.” Molly tells him gently, “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked you for help.”

“You can learn to trust so fast?” There’s shock behind Caleb’s smile, and Molly smiles, shakes his head,

“I don’t need to trust to call you my friend. Trust is more difficult. But I like you.”

“I like you, too, Mollymauk.” Caleb’s smile is genuine, small, and Molly leans forward a little,

“It’s Molly to my friends, darling.”

 

They decide on their orders, and Molly pulls out his wallet to pay, only to find Caleb frowning and setting a hand over his,

“No. This is my order.”

“But- Caleb, you work in a _library_ , how much can you make?” 

“Not enough. But this is for you.”

“This sounds more like a date with every passing second.” Molly relents and tucks his wallet back into his jeans. Caleb flushes, bright red, and shuffles away from the table to order their food.

When he comes back, he’s less red.

“I forgot to ask what drink you wanted, so I ordered tea. It’s not the best tea, but it’s tea.” He tells Molly, and receives a smile in return.

“Thank you.”

And then the silence is crushing, Caleb resorts even to pulling his phone out and Molly leans his chin on his good hand, watching Caleb idly, with nothing better to do.  
And, most likely, that was a _mistake_. 

Caleb is pretty. Molly knew this.

But the longer that Molly stares, the more enamored he becomes, with the way that Caleb’s hair falls either side of his face and that one strand that, like Molly’s own, likes to fall right across his eyes. Caleb blows at it, every now and then, moving it away and letting it slip slowly back to where it began anyway.

The way that Caleb’s red-brown hair reflects the daylight is different to the light of the moon. It changes the colour, the yellow-tone making his hair _glow_ , almost, golden instead of seeping the colour away with the pale purple-blue-white of the moonlight. Caleb doesn’t look so much statuesque in the light of the sun, but he’s just as beautiful- Molly can see a hint of a burn scar on Caleb’s neck, and what looks like a cut scar on his cheek. There’s many things that can do those, though, from table corners to peacocks- the latter of which, Molly has personal experience with. 

Molly _loves_ peacocks. 

Peacocks _hate_ Molly. 

Two plates, two cups come carried their way and Caleb tucks his phone away, Molly sits back, and they both thank their waiter gratefully as they settle in to eat. Molly’s plate is mostly chips, two eggs, not a fan of sausage in this regard.

Caleb is crunching his way through fucking _salad_ in his baked potato. 

“How can you eat that- that, _rabbit food_?” Molly cocks his head with a sort of smile, and Caleb returns it, finishes his mouthful, 

“I enjoy the texture more than the flavour of food. The crunchiness is something you cannot really find elsewhere, except perhaps in certain peppers. I don’t much like heat, though, so I avoid those.”

“Spring onions are crunchy.” Molly points out, puts a chip in his mouth and waits for Caleb’s rebuttal,

“They are. I enjoy those, too, but they take a _lot_ of mouthwash and brushing and gum to get the taste out of your mouth in the end. But lettuce is good. It has a good crunch when it’s fresh, and doesn’t leave a horrible taste behind.” 

Molly thinks about it, eats another chip as he does.

“That’s fair.” He concludes.

  
Caleb and Molly sit there for an hour. Their silences are common, but eventually they slip into conversation about the library, about Caleb’s work, about his friend, Yasha. 

“You know, she does not live too far from here.” Caleb tells Molly, “I could call her. You could meet her, potentially?”

“I’d like that.” Molly agrees, and sips his cup of cold tea, “She sounds very interesting.”

“Just a moment.” Caleb says, and he picks his phone up and dials.

 

They share idle conversation for about fifteen minutes after Caleb hangs up, and Molly leans across the table,

“We didn’t get very far with why you asked me for my work schedule, you know.” he prompts, and Caleb’s smile is crooked and nervous but seems to be real.

“I was- I was thinking that, perhaps, you would like to- to spend… more time with me. Oh, that sounds… not good.” He dithers off, and Molly gives his light laugh, the one that he’s seen to settle Caleb’s nerves. He shifts a hand, his good hand out across the table, places it gently atop Caleb’s.

“I would _very much_ like to spend more time with you, Caleb. But…” And there’s a sadness that has Caleb’s eyes coming up. 

“But?”

Molly bites his lip, avoids Caleb’s eyes.

Briefly, Caleb appreciates Molly eyes. They’re so unique, he’s a little mad at himself for not doing this earlier. Molly’s eyes are mostly green, with sections and splatters of brown, Caleb’s brain supplies _sectoral heterochromia_. Whatever the scientific name, Caleb’s heart stutters when those beautiful eyes come back to meet his own. 

“But I just… you know, the carnival, never says in one place too long. It’s hard. To get attached. And say goodbye.”

“Oh.” Says Caleb, softly.

“You don’t seem like the kind of person to care that way, but I am.” Molly replies, equally soft, “I think that I would get attached to you, very easily.”

Caleb flushes, opens his mouth to reply, and finds himself interrupted by a very large, pale woman shuffling toward their table.

“Oh, Yasha,” Caleb smiles, “Hello. Molly, this is Yasha. Yasha, Mollymauk.”

“Pleasure.” Yasha holds out a hand, and Caleb gives an _ah_ of startled protest, 

“Molly’s right arm is injured, you’ll have to use the other one.”

But Molly is staring at something on the inside of her right wrist.

A curled sprig of lavender.

And now he understands why Caleb had frozen the night before, his eyes, wide, move to Caleb.

“Ah.” Caleb says, sits back awkwardly, “I was right, then.”

 

Molly has been told before that seeing your assigned soulmate’s mark is an experience. An innate _knowing_ that can feel like a bat to the head. 

Well, Molly’s skull has just been hit for a home run, he thinks his brain might be floating somewhere up near space.

 

“What… is going on?” Yasha, hand still extended, looks from Molly’s shocked face to Caleb’s guilty one.

“Yasha,” Caleb says softly, “I’d like you to meet your soulmate.”

Yasha’s eyes come to Molly’s, they meet in the middle.

“Oh.” Says Yasha.

“Yeah.” Says Molly. “Except, it’s not me?”

Yasha pulls up a chair, and Molly presses back into the wall. He’s not nervous, Molly doesn’t _get_ nervous, really, but- 

“Look,” he says, and his voice is too sharp, “I- this- the mark was there when I- when I broke. When I stopped being… whoever I was before. So _I’m_ not really your soulmate?” 

“Would I know?” Yasha asks, and it’s half to Caleb too, “Would I know, if I saw it?”

“I knew.” Molly says quietly. 

“This is- a lot.” Yasha’s voice is strained, “I thought- you said just, new friend, Caleb.”

“I know.” Caleb buries his head in his hands.

“I can’t- I can’t deal with this right now.” Molly stands, and eases around Yasha to Caleb’s side.

“Molly, I’m sorry-” Caleb lifts his head and finds Molly gone, and then finds a hand on his shoulder, Molly beside him instead. Molly looks to Yasha.

“I don’t- look, I don’t want to be rude. You seem pretty cool. Just- yeah. Yeah, you know?”

“I know.” Yasha affirms, and Molly turns back to Caleb.

He leans down, despite his heart killing him from his chest out, despite the whirlwind of fear, and kisses Caleb’s hair.  
And for a moment, everything stills. Like a photograph. The whirlwind of fear and hatred and worry is still there but stock-still, flying petals frozen in place around him, everything becomes Caleb’s warmth and the feeling of his somewhat-messy hair under Molly’s lips. 

And then he draws away and everything starts again.

“Come see me. Sometime.” Molly tells him, squeezes his shoulder, and walks out before Caleb can think of a response.

 

 

“Gustav?” Molly calls to the trailer as he re-enters, “Desmond?”

“In the bedroom, Molly.” It’s Desmond that replies, and Molly shuffles through to the twin room that Desmond shares with Gustav.

He’s sewing something, when Molly comes in, and puts it down when he sees Molly’s face.

“Oh.” he says, “Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

“Look, I’m not- you want emotions? You should talk to Gustav.”

Molly hums, thinks, and shakes his head.

“Nah.” He says, softly, and comes to crawl and curl up beside Desmond, “I just want the familiar company.”  
His eyes close. 

“Binder off if you’re going to sleep.” Desmond says, offhand as he moves back to his stitching, and Molly grumbles as he sits up and pries it off underneath his shirt. He lies back down, curls with his back pressed to Desmond’s leg, and feels the rhythmic movement of sewing pause.

“It’ll be alright.” He assures Molly, ruffles his hair, and the movements of sewing start up again. Molly hums, noncommittal, in response, and closes his eyes to nap.

 

Molly dreams of Caleb.

Even asleep he finds himself torn up. Knowing this man for such a short period, and yet it feels… different, to Molly, who has had a string of one-night-stands and the occasional partner for a few days, but never anything serious and always just fun. Fun and crushes, and never indulging those, never wanting to, because the Carnival can be turned out at any point.  
But he dreams of Caleb, of Caleb’s hand in his, of Caleb’s warmth and weight against him, he remembers, exactly, the smell of books and ballpoint-pen ink spills, the smooth cotton of Caleb’s trenchcoat on Molly’s cheek, the weight and strength of Caleb’s grip on his wrist.

He holds Caleb’s hand, in his dream. They laugh. And whirl. And when Molly looks at his left hand, _he_ has the forget-me-nots there, and Caleb’s left hand is unbandaged, two stems of lavender twine their way down his middle finger. 

“Look.” Molly hears himself say as they still and stare at their clasped hands, “I’m yours after all.”

He feels Caleb’s other hand at his jaw, brushing his thumb over Molly’s cheekbone.

“A shame,” he hears Caleb’s voice, but it’s twisted, cold, and Molly’s heart turns numb, “That it’s not you this mark belongs to.”

 

  
He wakes up, gasping for breath and with tears in his eyes and Desmond throws his sewing aside to loop his arms around Molly as he sits up and spirals into a full panic attack.   
Molly leans into him, face in his hands and breathing erratic, listening to Desmond’s flailing attempts at soothing, and eventually, finally, falling into pace with his breathing routine. 

Seven seconds in.

Hold for three.

Eleven seconds out.

His breathing hitches and jumps in time with his tears but he gains the control he’d lost in his panic, still twitchy but there. Better. Control.

“It’s okay, Molly.” Desmond tells him, panicked tone to his voice, “Gustav will be home soon. It’ll be alright.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins the softness.

When Gustav does come back, he finds Desmond and Molly in the main room. Molly, sat on the floor in front of Desmond, and Desmond braiding his hair. Both quiet, unspeaking, but that’s the way that Desmond always has been.

It’s more unusual for Molly to be silent.

“What’s happened?” Is the first thing that Gustav asks, and Molly’s hand rubs his sprained wrist gently. He doesn’t answer, just looks at the floor and lets Desmond braid away behind him.  
  
Desmond’s eyes raise only briefly, and he doesn’t answer, either. It’s Molly’s business to tell, but he blinks up at Gustav anyway, eyes darting between him and Molly, and then moves back to his braids.   
Gustav puts his bag on the side and comes to sit in front of Molly.   
  
“Is it your wrist? Does it hurt?” He says, gently, too gently, and Molly winces.   
  
“No.” He tells Gustav, “No, it doesn’t hurt.”   
  
Gustav frowns as he studies the way Molly’s thumb of his good hand brushes the same point on his inside wrist. Repeatedly. Back and forth.   
  
“Oh, is that-”   
  
“Yeah.” Molly interrupts before Gustav can finish the sentence, “Her name’s Yasha.”   
  
“Isn’t that something you’ve always wanted, though?” Gustav tries gently, “To meet your soulmate?”   
  
“It’s not _my_ soulmate though, is it?” Molly frowns, “It’s- before me.”   
  
“Soulmates are part of fate, right?” Desmond chips in for the first time, “You believe in fate, Molly? Predestiny?” 

“I- yeah. Sort of. I think it can be changed, and re-written, but- yeah.”

“I was told, when I was younger, that the first time you meet the person you match up to is always set in stone. One of those things you can’t change. You could be halfway across the world, and fate will find a way to fix it for you- could be a mis-dialled number, could be an impulse holiday, who knows? Was it the first time she’d met you?”  
  
Molly blinks as he processes what Desmond has said.   
  
“Yeah. It was.” 

“Then it was always _you_ that she was meant to meet. Not whatever came before- always _you_ , Molly.”   
  
The drop of his name is no small meaning. Molly knows that. It’s for emphasis and it hurts. A lot. Gustav gives Desmond a grateful smile and leans in to Molly,   
  
“Take the night off, Molly. Not just for this, but because you can’t do nearly as much with that-” Gustav taps the fingers of Molly’s right hand, “- so I’ll get Jester out instead. I do want you to talk to her, though.”   
  
“I’ll have a conversation.” Molly’s lips twitch into a smile. 

“I’m done.” Desmond secures the braid- all of Molly’s thick hair in one even thicker plait down his back, twined with ribbons and little glass crystals. Molly smiles, butts his head to Desmond’s knee.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Glad I could help.” Desmond pats his head affectionately.

 

“ _Jes-ter_.” Molly lilts at a shadow of his usual self, pushes Jester’s trailer door open. She shares this one with Bosun, but it seems that he’s out and away right now- Jester, however, is relaxing in the main room.   
  
“ _Mol-ly_.” She echoes his tone, “What’s up? Did Gustav send you to tell me off?”   
  
“He did.” Molly grins as he comes in. Jester is sat on the sofa by the window, legs curled under her, painting her nails. She looks over her shoulder to roll her eyes at him,   
  
“I’ve learned my lesson, promise. Is your wrist okay?”   
  
Molly holds up the offending mess of bandages,   
  
“It hurts.” He tells her, and she pulls an almost guilty face.   
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
“You can make it up to me?”   
  
“How?” Jester cocks her head, “What can I do?”   
  
“First, take my shift tonight? Gustav has banned me. He’ll make you do it anyway, I just think it’s nice to ask.”   
  
Jester clicks and winks at him,   
  
“You got it. What else?”   
  
“Come for a drive with me? I need- I have to get in contact with someone and… uh… I have a vague plan of how to do that.”   
  
“Are you going to find them?”   
  
“Oh, Gods, no. I’m going to find someone that has their number.” 

“Complex.” Jester winds the lid back on her bottle and waves her hands a little, “Okay! Give me five minutes for my nails to dry and to put on a skirt, I’ll meet you by Gustav’s car!”  
  
Molly waves as he makes his way out.

 

Jester does as she promises, completely changed into one of her more casual outfits- a button-up pink blouse and a loose cotton skirt in navy.  
  
“So, who am I looking for?”   
  
“Did you see the folks I was with last night?” 

They climb into the car, Jester taps a finger to her lips as she thinks.  
  
“Hm. The little one with all of the hair, the cute ginger, Fjord, and Beau?” 

Molly is glad he isn’t driving, because he suspects he would have crashed the car.

“Wait, you _know_ Beau and Fjord?”   
  
“Well of course! They came by the tent first, I took them to your trailer!”   
  
Molly revs the car to life and pulls out, cautiously, onto the rough roads of the marina. 

“Do you have a number for either of them?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I _collect_ them. It’s modern day pen pals, you know!” Jester shoves a hand into the waistband of her skirt and shuffles around, tongue poking out in concentration, until she can withdraw her phone from one of the pockets that Molly himself had sewn to the inside for her. 

“Which one?”

“Which one do you need?” Jester waggles her phone, Molly pulls onto the main streets of the town.

“Beau. I need Beau, and I need you to get Caleb’s number from her.”

“Who’s Caleb?” Jester leans forward to watch Molly’s face, and he spares her an exasperated glance before refocusing on the road.

“He’s someone I need to talk to.”

Jester gasps.

“Is he your _soulmate_ ? Did you finally meet your soulmate? Molly!” 

“Uh-” Molly chokes, “Make the call, will you? I’ll explain when… everything is clearer.”

Jester huffs.

“ _Fine_.” 

And she makes the call. Molly drives in a loop around the town before heading out toward Bleakburn, Jester chatters amicably to Beau, and eventually, manages to remember to ask for Caleb’s number.  
And then hangs up. 

“Five minutes.” Molly says with a twitch of bitterness to his voice, “That’s a record.”

“Shush, or I won’t call your dream man.”

“I- resent that.” Molly can’t form any other argument, and Jester hums happily as they move onto the bypass and her phone gives the jingle of a text message.

“Oh! Got it! Do you want me to call him now?”

“Yes!” Molly nearly slips his foot off of the accelerator in his excitement, “ _Gods_ , please! Put him on speaker?” 

“You got it.”

 

  
Caleb’s phone vibrates on the arm of the sofa he’s laid face-down on.

He groans.

He’d make Nott get it, usually, but she’s out late at college today finishing essays for her deadline, and so, cruel that the world is, he pushes himself up onto his forearms.

It’s not a number that he recognises, but he’s made a few essential purchases, some listings online the past few days, so he decides he’d best answer it.  
Call centres are fun to fuck with anyway.   
He slides to answer and begins with a tentative, 

“ _Hallo_?” 

There’s a pause and some muffled argument and the sound of cars and then, just as he’s about to hang up,

“Caleb?”

It’s Molly. Molly has his number. _How_ does Molly have his number? 

“Caleb, is that you? Are you there?”

Caleb scrambles to press the phone to his ear,

“Mollymauk? How did you- where- what-?”

“Oh, darling- I’m _so_ glad to hear your voice. I, um. I have, we should, talk. Maybe?” 

Jester is grinning from ear-to-ear at Molly, and Molly’s eyes are very deliberately on the road. 

“I- _Ja_. I think that would be, a good idea, perhaps. Would you like to- to come to my house, tomorrow? I think it would be, more pleasant, than a public location.” 

“I’m actually, uh, on my way to Bleakburn now. With company.”

“ _Hell-o_ , Caleb!” Jester chirrups. 

Caleb sits, kneads his fingers in the fabric of his sofa,

“Are you coming from Blackwater? And, if you are, do you think you could stop in at the college? For Nott, see, I would rather have-”

“Company of your own. Of course, no problem- let her know, I’ll stop in on the way. It’s the chain-link fence, yes?”

“ _Ja_. She can give you… directions. I will see you soon, Mollymauk.” 

“See you soon, darling.” Molly hates the softness of his voice. He hates the way Jester is smiling. And he _really_ hates the way that the phone clicks and goes silent. 

“Shut up.” He tells Jester, and her grin only widens.

“I didn’t say anything, Molly.”

“You’re thinking too loud. Shut up.” he thwaps at her gently, half-joking, and makes the turn into the college grounds. “I need a smoke.”

Jester’s grin disappears at that.

“I thought you’d quit?” She says, sad and confused and oh, Molly’s heart breaks, “You said you’d quit.”

“I did.” He admits, “For a bit. But I’m _stressed._ I need it. I don’t do it often, Jester, I promise.” 

“I can’t stop you.” She says. Huffs and crosses her arms and they both know she’s right and they both hate it.

Molly parks up and climbs out of the car, leans back against it in the afternoon sunlight, lights up and takes his first drag in months.  
And chokes a bit. Coughs on it, unfamiliar sensations to him but slips back into the rhythm easily enough, makes his way slowly through the cigarette and watches for Nott. 

He’s about halfway when he feels something light tap his shoulder.

“You know, you’re not meant to smoke here. It’s technically illegal.”

He jumps a little at first, but he’s getting used to Nott. She’s frowning at him, one hand on hip, lanyard bright against her plain white shirt.

“And I’ll bet my ass you all do it anyway.” Molly manages not to splutter.

“Oh, yeah. Doesn’t make it right, though.”

She gets in his car without any further comment, he can hear through his open window as Nott and Jester begin to chatter and bond, Nott’s anger melting away into a kind of excited elatedness.

So, Nott attends college. Molly drags. That means she’s got to be sixteen at a minimum. Another drag. He wonders how old she really is.  
A final drag, and he drops the butt, grinds it out with the heel of his boot and climbs back into the car. 

“Buckled in?” He asks them both, and they both make noises of affirmation, go back to their giggling, and Molly rolls his eyes. He has better things to focus on right now, after all.  
  
Like making it up to Caleb.

  


“Left here.” Nott leans around the seats best she can to watch out of the front window, “See that park there? Yeah, just- opposite that gate. Yeah. Yeah, here.”  
  
Molly pulls in where she indicates, to their right, there’s a park- a huge expanse of flat green and a few trees, cordoned off by a wrought-iron fence painted in glossy black, and to their left there’s a series of thin houses. The one they stop by is painted a cute grey-blue, and there’s a heart shaped door knocker.   
  
“Who even uses a knocker any more?” Molly grumbles as he slips out of the car, Nott and Jester behind him. 

“Caleb doesn’t like the sound of doorbells. It does something to him. So we use a knocker, instead.” Nott half-glares at Molly

Oh. Molly hadn’t considered that. He bows his head, it’s all he can think to admit his mistake, and Nott grins.

“Stop being a baby. Come on.” And rushes in the gate and up the steps, throws the door open, Molly hears her call out to Caleb as he locks up and follows Jester up the steps.

Caleb’s face appears from a doorway into the hall, twisted with worry and Molly’s heart hurts.  
Nott looks from Caleb, over her shoulder to Molly, and takes Jester’s hand. 

“Come upstairs, I want you to watch this _really cool_ video on my laptop.” 

Jester follows Nott’s eyes, ten seconds behind her,

“That sounds like a good idea. We can watch cat videos?”

“Sure.” There’s a chuckle underlying Nott’s acceptance as she shuffles up the stairs trailing Jester behind her.

Molly watches them go, tracks them with his eyes until he can’t see them any more, and closes the door so he has an excuse not to look at Caleb for just a few more seconds.

“You were the one that called, Mollymauk.” Caleb says accusingly to the back of Molly’s head, and Molly hisses. Finally, someone that can meet his own skill in reading other people, and it _had_ to be Caleb. 

“Come into the main room.” Caleb sighs, but his voice is soft, and Molly turns to read his body but Caleb has disappeared again, and Molly is forced to follow the path he’s likely took through the door he’d been peeking through.

He’s right.

Caleb is sitting on a soft-looking two-seater sofa, kneading the fabric under his palms, eyes on the floor. He looks up briefly at the flash of colour in the doorway, smiles weakly, looks away again.

“Can I sit?” Molly asks, voice impossibly quiet, and Caleb nods.

“Close the door.”

Molly does as he’s bidden and comes, perches on the arm of the sofa so that Caleb isn’t forced to sit next to him.

“I never asked you,” Molly says, and his mouth is dry, “Why you hide it?”

Caleb gives a breath of laughter that sounds bitter just by existing.

“I never want my life to be dictated.” He tells Molly, “I had enough of my life controlled. I won’t have that any more. I do not want a _flower_ telling me who I should fall in love with.” 

Molly shifts to sit on the sofa itself.

“It’s not just who you fall in love with, though.”

Caleb looks up, stops kneading, to meet Molly’s eyes with all of himself intact.

“But- the idea of a soulmate is, is, romantic, inherently?”

Molly scoffs, laughs a little,

“That’s just the general consensus. And, yeah, it’s pretty common- people fall for people that mean the most, it’s just human nature. But the way I see it, from everything I’ve read, been taught, it’s someone that can and will change your life in the biggest way.”

Caleb shudders.

“I do not like that.”

“In the best way.” Molly corrects himself.

“Then-” Caleb chokes off what he was about to say. He hates what he was about to say. It’s too soon, too stupid, anyone would laugh.  
_Then why isn’t it you?_

Molly’s right hand loosely curls and uncurls, he can’t do it as hard as he’d like, his wrist hurts too much.

“Caleb, how do you feel about people touching you?”

“I do not like it from strangers, but- are you asking for yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Then I would- I would like that.” Caleb stiffens for his own words, and Molly takes a moment to blink in shock.

Not _it’s okay_ , not _it will be fine_ , nothing passive. Positive. There’s nothing left for doubt.   
Molly shuffles and pulls an arm up and around his shoulders, pulls him in toward him, and Caleb huffs as he unwinds from himself, winds around Molly instead. 

“You said to Yasha, something about not- not being _you_.” He says, muffled by Molly’s shoulder, and feels Molly freeze under his fingers. He squeezes Molly, somewhere between apologies and reassurance, and Molly squeezes right back. 

“I- yeah. About, two- three? Two or three years ago, I had, uh. A lot of shit. Went wrong in my life. And people that I was with tried putting me through a sort of- well, the shortest version is that, I broke. My mind broke. So I don’t remember a lot of what- what happened, before then, and I don’t remember, who I was, just that I don’t like it. I don’t like that guy. He’s a dick.”

He feels Caleb shift and nestle in a different position. Still close. Still making Molly’s heart skip a few beats.

“I woke up the next morning, not remembering my name, who I was, _completely_ new person. Kinda had to run away, too so- uh- Gustav. Adopted me. Bought me all of my binders, looked after me, gave me the ratty tarot sets from the old fortune-teller, taught me how to be the person I want to be, ‘stead of the person I thought I was.” 

Caleb stops and blinks and thinks.

“Binders?”

“I- yeah, did you not, notice?” Molly shifts a hand from Caleb’s back to drag his collar down, stretch the thick strap of his binder. It’s the purple dragonscale one, today- he could have worn the oil slick again, but he saves that one for the special occasions.

Caleb’s head lifts to inspect, eyes darting across the shimmer, and then he settles back down against Molly’s shoulder.

“I am clever, not observant.” He murmurs, and his eyes close, his breathing no longer the erratic pace of anxiety, but calming down. Molly smells of lavender, and vaguely sweat, but with the stress they’ve both been through today, it’s no real surprise.

“Molly.” Jester opens the door, leans in, “Gustav says I need to be back for six.”

Molly groans.

“It’s five-thirty, Molly.” Jester continues.

Molly doesn’t want to move. Caleb doesn’t want Molly to move. They haven’t, even with the brief jump of Jester intruding on their moment.

“We can continue this another day.” Caleb tells Molly, not shifting from his shoulder, “You should take-” he pauses, looks over to Jester.

“Jester.” She replies with a grin.

“You should take Jester back.”

“Are you coming tonight?”

Caleb shakes his head, squishes around Molly’s waist,

“I am- emotionally, I only have, so much energy.”

“That’s fine. It’s fine. You sound sad- it’s okay-”

“Uh- actually, Caleb, Nott said I should ask you-” Jester shuffles into the room, and for the first time in the long while that Molly has known her, she looks _nervous_. Caleb extricates himself from Molly and sits up, 

“Yes?”

“Well. Nott’s _very_ nice and I like her a _lot_ and I know I’m not a kid anymore but- but- sleepovers are still really fun! And can -” 

“Nott is seventeen.” Caleb holds a hand up as he interrupts.

Huh. One of Molly’s questions answered.

“She doesn’t need to ask me for permission, and neither do you, Jester.”

“No, but I _do_ need to ask you if- um. Molly could stay here?” 

Both Molly and Caleb splutter at that, Molly’s wide eyes turn up toward her,

“ _What_? Why?” 

“Because!” Jester wrings her hands, “Nott’ll need somewhere to sleep and Bo will need somewhere to sleep and if you’re _here_ then, you know, he can take _your_ room in Gustav’s trailer and-” 

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay, I _get it_.” Molly cuts her off before she can get into rambles, “Caleb?” 

“I, was going to ask you to- to spend some time, with me. Anyway. So- _ja_ , that is, that’s fine. When?” 

“Thursday?” Jester suggests awkwardly,

“ _Thursday_ ?” Molly peeps. 

“Well, you see, it’s your night off. I thought, spending the night, with conversation and- yes. And I’m only working the teller shift that night.”

Molly groans, puts his face in his good hand.  
Caleb leans closer, 

“That is fine with me, if it is with you, Mollymauk?”

Molly groans again.

“Yeah. That’s- yeah, fine. Okay. Sure.”

“Great! See you in the car!” Jester claps and skips out and Caleb puts an arm around Molly’s shoulders.

“It’s like _babysitting_.” He moans into his palm, “She’s three years younger than I am, and it’s like babysitting.” 

“How old is she?” Caleb rubs a soothing rhythm into Molly’s shoulder.

“Nineteen.” Molly huffs, leans in to Caleb, “Babysitting.”

Caleb laughs, properly, a bark of a sound that he muffles quickly with a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, Mollymauk, _Liebling_.” Caleb shakes his head, “There is no controlling them when they realise they’re adults.” 

“Tell me about it.” Molly grumbles, and they both scrape at the seconds they can sit there in relaxed silence before Molly has to stand away from Caleb.

“I’ll pick Nott up on Thursday, drop her off, come back. Say, seven?”

“Seven.” Caleb agrees, “Will I- can I talk to you? Before then?”

Molly pulls a face, flinches,

“I don’t- have a phone. Jester helped me out today, but you can pass messages through her.”

Caleb gives a sad sort of smile.

“I can wait until Thursday. Goodbye, Mollymauk- I’ll see you soon.”

“It’s Molly to my friends, love.” Molly takes the last chance to step in and kiss Caleb’s hair again, because he’d enjoyed it so much before, and slips out of the door with only a wave from Caleb in response.

  


Molly climbs into the car.

“So,” Jester drawls, he puts the key in and turns it, “Your dream man?”

“He’s not my soulmate.” Molly gives as cold reply.

“But you _like_ him.” Jester teases, “I’ve never seen you that sweet with anyone, even _me_.” 

Molly actually chuckles at that, as he pulls out.

“I do.” He admits, and feels the headrush that follows admitting a secret, “I like him. But that’s _it_ \- I can’t say anything more until- well, I met him yesterday.” 

“ _It could be love_.” Jester trills, and Molly puts the radio on loud to drain her sound out. Jester relents, begins to wriggle in her seat as she dances to the beat. 

“It could be.” He says, too quiet under the music to be heard, but he feels a shiver for the hope anyway. “It could be.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepover Night! (The good fluff starts here)

Molly spends the remainder of Tuesday, and a large part of Wednesday, moping. Gustav comes in to find Molly hanging off the sofa upside-down and groans so hard, Molly’s sure the whole trailer rocks.  
  
“You have _nothing_ better to do?” He asks, one hand over his face, and Molly grins and waves his right arm. Still bandaged. 

“Nope!”

“Then get your coat on, we’re going to the hospital. It’s about time you got that wrist looked at.”

“Aw.” Molly pouts, but rolls off of the sofa anyway, “Okay.”

Gustav disappears as Molly picks himself up, reappears to throw Molly’s coat over his head,

“Car.”

“Car.” Molly affirms, follows Gustav out.

 

The hospital is a ten minute drive and an hour-long wait to be seen. Gustav taps on his phone, Molly scribbles with his left hand on a piece of paper.

He’s not equally ambidextrous. His right hand is better than his left by far, but he isn’t horrific, manages to get a few childish drawings down of cats that Molly has seen around the marina. And when he tires of cats, he tries drawing Caleb instead. His style is cartoonish and largely Jester-inspired, and he doesn’t do Caleb’s beauty anything like justice.

He kind of wishes that Caleb was here right now. With him.

It’s always been a Molly thing, when something goes wrong, he just wants the person he cares for the most. Usually, that’s Gustav. Sometimes, Jester, or Ornna.  
It’s Caleb today. 

Leaves an ache in him so hollow and hurting that it pales in comparison to the pain from his wrist.

“Molly,” Gustav jabs him, “You’ve been called.”

He was too busy thinking of Caleb to hear his own name. Oh, dear.  
This is bad.   


Molly is dismissed from the hospital with an ice pack- to take down the last of the swelling- and a clean bill of health. It had been a minor sprain, just the bruising that had lingered that hurt so badly, and the instruction of paracetamol. Ibuprofen, if he wasn’t icing it, but not both at the same time- the swelling was to be reduced carefully, or it could flare up again.  


Molly is diligent with his ice and his ibuprofen, so when he sets off at six the next evening, he doesn’t even need his bracing bandages on. The morning glory is revealed once more, and Molly’s bag is flung on the back seat- it holds one of his too-big red sleeping shirts and a pair of shorts, and a change of clothes for the morning. Well. It has a _shirt and underwear_ for the next morning, he’ll keep the same skinny jeans, same binder, he’s coming home early enough for that not to be too gross. 

He pulls up outside Caleb’s house and beeps once, that’s all it takes for Nott to come tearing out of the door and down the steps, backpack over one shoulder.

“She has a _knife_.” Caleb calls to Molly over Nott’s head in warning, and Molly gives a bright laugh, 

“So does Jester! See you soon, darling.”

Caleb disappears inside, Nott climbs into the car.

“You wanna see my knife?” She asks, buckling herself in, “It’s pretty!”

Molly doesn’t get the chance to say _yes_ before Nott is digging a hand into her backpack to pull out a butterfly knife that seems to reflect every colour of the rainbow, iridescent and beautiful. 

“Y’ever stabbed anyone with that?” Molly asks as he pulls out and Nott grins, the kind of wild, terrifying grin that has Molly’s heart jumping in excitement and just a little terror.

“Not with _this_ one.” 

Oh. Molly likes that. He reaches over and ruffles her hair, careful to avoid his rings getting caught in her wild curls,

“Atta girl. Only the bad people, though, right?”

“Only the bad people.” Nott repeats, nodding when Molly pulls his hand back, and he checks out of the corner of his eye. She’s telling the truth, her blinks are slow and rhythmic and her smile isn’t forced or smug, but it’s sad, and there’s a crease that tells him that she may not entirely believe that herself.  
He lets the quiet stretch as he manoeuvres around the roundabout and onto the main road again. 

“Nott?” He says softly, “Are you okay?”

Nott’s hands clench, both fists around the pretty case of the knife.

“It’s nothing you have to worry about.” She assures in a voice far too steady, far too controlled, “I- I don’t, I won’t hurt Jester. Or you. I promise.”

“I know you won’t.” Molly replies simply, because he can feel that just this much is making Nott ache to say. “I trust you.”

Nott is quiet, painfully so, for a solid two minutes.

“Thank you.” She says, eventually. Molly just smiles, soft, she can see him out of the corner of her eye, and he doesn’t reply. It’s easier that way.

 

Jester rushes up to the car as Molly pulls up outside her trailer. Nott clambers out with an excited chirp, grin back on her face, and Jester leans through Molly’s open window, hugs Molly around the shoulders.

“You know, you’re lucky that Gustav doesn’t use his car.” She tells him as she pulls away and turns to cuddle Nott instead, “You’d be fucked if he needed it.”

“Shush.” Molly rolls his eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow, pick you up at about twelve, Nott?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Nott pulls her arms around Jester’s waist and they stand, Jester on her tiptoes to fit Nott’s head under her chin.

“Get Caleb to text me if you need anything! Buy condoms on the way!”

“I carry them, Jester.” is the first thing out of Molly’s mouth on instinct alone, and then, “ _But that’s not what this is!_ ” Which has her letting go of Nott so that she can double over in laughter. Flushed and burning, Molly spits a goodbye and cranks off the handbrake so that he can ollie his way neatly out of the situation.

 

He almost forgets to lock the car behind him in his excitement to get to Caleb, by the time he’s fumbled the key into the lock and turned- who has a manual lock these days? _Honestly_ \- Caleb has thrown the door open and is smiling at him from the doorway. It’s not a grin, it’s not painfully wide, but it’s so bright that Molly has to blink a few times when he turns to him. 

“Sight for sore eyes, _m’eudail_ ,” oh, Caleb’s casual use of the odd German word is rubbing off on him, “May I come in?” 

“Of course, of course.” Caleb blinks and flushes, doesn’t recognise the word or the language but he recognises the tone and placement. 

He shuffles back in, Molly follows, closes the door behind him and finds Caleb sprawled on the floor when he comes back. He leans against the doorjamb, casual as you like, raises his eyebrows,

“Perfectly good sofa right there, Caleb.”

Caleb hums from the floor, digging and kneading against the rug. It has long, silky, wool-like fibres that feel good between his fingers, leaves a pleasant kind of tingling under the tips that keeps Caleb’s mind both occupied and grounded. A nice balance between something to keep him in the now, and something to stop his panic from overwhelming him. He needs a few seconds, he thinks, to untangle the threads of the worry, to figure out exactly what’s wrong. Molly is waiting patiently for a response.

“I am thinking.” Caleb supplies, and Molly nods, makes _his_ way to the sofa instead and flops face-first onto it. 

He waits in silence for the gears in Caleb’s head to stop chewing themselves as they turn in different directions.

Caleb kneads the carpet and breathes, just wants that sudden fog to clear from his head. So that he can get on with _Molly_ , whatever that entails- Caleb has a few potential movies picked out for the night, and Yasha on speed-dial if that’s something that Molly would like to try. 

He slowly begins to untangle the knotted mess that makes his mind right now. And once the first thread is pulled, everything else spills straight.

Seems that his problem is that he finds Molly attractive. And that spills over again into Molly assuming that Caleb wouldn’t get attached, into the truth that Molly will leave, into the fact that Caleb already cares about Molly far, far more than he cares about everyone else- save Nott, and Yasha, because that would just be _wrong_. Those two have been by his side since- well. Nott had pulled him from the flames, Yasha had taken him in afterwards. There will never be any replacing them, and yet his mark is neither of theirs. 

He’s getting off-track, wrangles himself back to the train of thought he needs.

He can’t think of anything to fix what he’s worried for and so he just. Balls it up. Crushes it away. He’ll think on it later, to see if he _can_ figure out a fix, but for now- 

He sits up. Fingers still kneading, but more relaxed, now, he cocks his head at Molly, face-first in his sofa.

“Molly, are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, just giving you a chance to think.” Molly mumbles into the sofa, and Caleb stifles a chuckle when he doesn’t even turn his head.

He pulls his hands from the carpet and stops for a second to appreciate the tingle in his fingertips from the loss. And then crawls forward, crosses his arms on the sofa cushion beside Molly’s head, and plonks his chin on his arms with a soft huff.

Molly turns his head at that, eyes glimmering with the light that creeps past Caleb’s hair, nowhere near as bright as the little smile he’s giving Molly. And Molly smiles back.

“Hi.” Molly’s voice is soft, Caleb’s smile twitches a touch bigger,

“ _Hallo_.” 

The photograph sensation that Molly had experienced kissing Caleb’s hair in the restaurant returns, but this time, it’s as though his mind is trying to capture the experience in itself. He captures the way that Caleb’s bright blue eyes reflect the light, almost like they’re glowing, so bright in the shadow. And the colour of his hair, how it shifts in this new lighting from the gold of the restaurant, from the colour-seeped moonlight of the carnival, now truly auburn. The loose frizzy flyaways, against the otherwise smooth surface, and the way that Caleb smiles, for Molly. That smile is _for_ Molly. There’s warmth in Caleb’s eyes, comfort and love and a strange kind of trust. 

Molly likes that. It’s a good look on Caleb.

“What would you like to do tonight?” Caleb asks, and the intimacy of the moment is, regretfully, broken. He sits back on his heels and Molly sits up, makes room for Caleb on the sofa.

Caleb doesn’t take the seat, stays crouched on the floor, looking up at Molly. Waiting for an answer. Studying the pattern of freckles on Molly’s cheeks and the way his eyes crinkle at the edges with the soft warmth of his smile.

“What’d you recommend? Staying in? Going out? It’s been a while since I had a cuddle night. If- you know- if that’s somethin’ you’d do.”

Caleb tilts his head to think about it, like he’s tipping all the relevant thoughts into one place, collecting the remnants of cake mix at one side of the bowl to scrape it all out. One more cupcake for the batch.

“I have a few- movies, if- I would like that. Yes.”

Molly’s soft smile breaks into the characteristic grin that Caleb so adores, and he finally picks himself from the floor to sit next to Molly.  
Molly loops an arm around his shoulders, halfway back to the point they were interrupted and ah, this is better. 

“What kind of movies do you like, Mollymauk?”

“Gay ones.” Molly replies without missing a beat. He pauses a second, and then bursts into laughter, feels Caleb chuckle against him.

“There is a short supply of those, unfortunately.” Caleb smiles, and waves a hand at the little pile of disc cases on the table. “There are a few there, I am sure we can find some on demand if you’d prefer something else.”

It’s just a handful that Caleb has pulled from his shelf without looking, and Molly skims his eyes over them, his eye catches on a bright, multi-coloured case about halfway down, out of place amongst the gritty-looking dark covers.

“What about- just a second, darling-” Molly slips away to go to the table, pry the case out, “-What about this?”

Caleb stares in abject horror. At the My Little Pony case.

“That is from- a while ago. Nott, she- we thought, she might _like it_ and she did but she’s grown- grown out of it, now- Molly, what are you doing?” 

“ _The Runaway Rainbow_.” Molly muses, reads from the box as he pops the disc out and checks it for scratches, “Sounds fun.” 

“Molly.” Caleb’s voice is painfully level. Molly puts the disc carefully in the player.

“Yes, my dear?” Molly’s voice drips saccharine, and if Caleb had doubted before that he knew what he was doing, he doesn’t doubt it now.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because we need something to either ignore, or a secret to bond us forever. The secret being that we _enjoyed_ a pony movie.” Molly flashes a grin over his shoulder, and there’s a weird edge to it that hurts Caleb’s heart at the edges, “You’ll need _something_ to remember me by.” 

“Oh, Molly,” Caleb laughs a little, rolls his eyes, “I could never forget you.”

Molly just.

Sits.

Blinks in some semblance of confusion, tilts his head as though what Caleb has said is in another language. Briefly, Caleb wonders if he’s spoken in German again without thinking.

“But- everyone forgets me. I’m not supposed to be remembered.”

He didn’t. Molly just hurts inside.

“I cannot _possibly_ comprehend the idea of someone forgetting such an ostentatious advertiser as you.” Caleb tries to sound jovial, but succeeds only in being _soft._ The movie clicks into play, and Molly fights tears. 

“But- but- everyone forgets.” He says, “I make sure everyone forgets. I don’t ever want to- to leave someone- upset, sad, missing me. I’ll never come back, you know?”

“Ah, _Liebling_ ,” Caleb shuffles in place, words failing him, “Come here.” 

Molly crawls across the floor, doesn’t even bother to stand, hands and knees and tears to the sofa and scrambles up into Caleb. Caleb, who has his arms out and is waiting, patiently, for Molly to come back to him.  
Molly snuggles his face into the crook of Caleb’s neck, the soft woolen fabric pleasant against his tightly-shut eyes. Caleb, with some difficulty, hefts Molly properly up onto the sofa and winds his arms around him, one around his waist and one around his shoulders, squeezes tight and presses his cheek to the top of Molly’s head. The movie chirps away in the background. 

They lie entwined for a few minutes before Molly’s breathing slows, and Caleb draws lines up and down his spine for his attention.

“Molly, _schatz_ , if you are going to sleep, is it not recommended to take off your binder? I-” Ah, shit, that sounds- creepy. “If you aren’t _comfortable_ , I understand, I just want to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.” 

Molly makes a combination noise of moaning and groaning.

“I know, I know you’re right. I brought a sports bra just- I don’t want to move. I like this.” he presses his head a little harder to Caleb’s shoulder, “I needed this.”

“There is nothing to say we can’t come back to it, if you’re okay with that.” Caleb stills his hand, flat against the small of Molly’s back. Molly’s eyes flutter shut, he presses back against the contact and makes Caleb smile, just a little.

“ _Fuck_ , fine. Anything that gives me an excuse to fall asleep on you- who needs blankets? I got me a Caleb.” Molly continues to ramble and grumble as he sits up and, without even bothering to hide himself, strips off his shirt and binder. 

“Molly-” Caleb chokes in shock, and hops up to the window. Molly curses.

“ _Sorry_ , carnival folk- I can leave?” 

“No, just- the blinds are open.” Caleb turns them, and Molly grins over at him. Caleb is flushed red, it does _not_ go well with his hair but it’s adorable all the same, and when he tentatively looks back to Molly, the latter has looked away. He’s busy stripping all the way down, no point in only half changing, might as well go all out. He undoes his hair, too- shit’s uncomfortable to sleep in, he argues to himself, it has nothing to do with impressing Caleb. 

Caleb, meanwhile, is watching, completely enthralled, studying the way that Molly’s hair falls and twirls and curls down his back. It almost reaches the hem of his shorts when he tugs them on, riffles through his back for the rest of his pyjamas.

The freckles that litter Molly’s face don’t stop there. They’re all down his arms and, Caleb suspects, they’d be on his shoulders too if not for the numerous tattoos.  
Molly’s aversion to his true soulmate mark is painfully obvious, now that Caleb knows this about him. The bright colours and span of the floral pieces across his shoulders, back, and arms- they’re so obviously a distraction, twining around the snake and the peacock that Caleb has seen creeping into Molly’s hairline. 

Molly pulls a somewhat ratty red shirt on and turns, the movie still chirping away in the background and the light outside finally beginning to fade.

“Is the offer still open?” He asks, and Caleb blinks to clear the confusion.

“I- _ja_ , certainly, just- allow me to change and get something… things, from upstairs.” 

“Sure.” Molly stretches himself out, Caleb’s wide eyes find a slither of skin revealed by the lifting of the shirt and stick there, “Don’t s’pose you have any hot chocolate?”

“In the kitchen, in the purple pot. Make two? I take two sugars.”

Molly clicks and points at him, wanders off out of the door, and Caleb takes a second to perch on the arm of the chair and bury his face in his hands. He lets out a long, shaking breath.  
Okay.   
Okay, Molly isn’t the first attractive person that Caleb has ever met. 

He’s certainly the most interesting, and the only one that Caleb has invited home, nevermind staying the night with.

He’s also the only one to share a soulmate mark with one of Caleb’s best friends.

He sighs again and pulls himself up to shuffle off upstairs.

 

When he comes back down, he finds two gently steaming cups of hot chocolate on the table, and Molly curled on the sofa, watching the movie with almost rapt attention. When Caleb comes in with two arms full of bullshit, though, he looks over and stands.

“What’s- are you okay?”

“ _Ja_ , I just- um. I thought, perhaps, a… bed?” he drops the inflatable bed as he speaks, to emphasise, and the rolled-up plastic slowly unrolls on the floor. Molly chuckles. 

“Oh, now you want to _sleep with me_? Caleb, on the second date!” 

“ _Please_ stop teasing.” Caleb groans, but he’s smiling, and Molly smiles right back. 

“D’you have a pump?”

“ _Ja,_ here.” Caleb drops that, too. It’s a foot pump, bright yellow, short pipe, arms still full of blankets and pillows. 

He dumps those on the sofa.

Molly crouches and unrolls the bed as Caleb drops his load, straightens it out best he can and helps Caleb move the table and the hot chocolate so that they can spread it out across the floor. Caleb attaches the tube from the pump to the bed, and begins the slow process of inflating it.  
It takes about five minutes. They swap, whenever one of them gets tired, and watch the movie. 

“This isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.” Molly observes dully to Caleb as they switch again, and Caleb makes a noise of agreement.

When the bed is finally blown up, blankets tossed over it haphazardly, pillows in place, Caleb climbs on first. It wobbles under him, like a mini bouncy castle, but he settles down and blinks up at Molly.

“Coming?”

“Gladly.”

Molly drops to his hands and knees to crawl up, curling against Caleb as he had before, laying his head on Caleb’s shoulder and an arm around his waist and contentment in his heart.

“Thank you, Caleb.” He murmurs gently, half-absent already, and Caleb kisses the top of his head in a gesture reminiscent to Molly kissing his hair.

“I want to remember you.” He tells Molly simply, and doesn’t miss the way that Molly’s breathing hitches. Doesn’t comment, but doesn’t miss it, doesn’t miss the way that Molly presses a little closer, buries his face a little more, shakes a little under Caleb’s hands.  
“I will remember you.” Caleb rectifies his own words, and Molly clings that little bit tighter. 

“You won’t.” He says, voice and heart completely hopeless, “Nobody ever does.”

“I _will_.” Caleb insists, rubs a gentle pattern into Molly’s back, “I will never forget you, Mollymauk Tealeaf.” 

“I haven’t done anything.” Molly mumbles against Caleb’s shoulder, and Caleb smiles though he can’t see it.

“You do not need to. What you are is enough.”

Molly huffs gently, wriggles his face a little more into the crook of Caleb’s neck, exposed now with the lack of the turtleneck.

“And _Yasha_ is meant to be my soulmate.” Molly quips, “Shoulda been you. I shoulda had the forget-me-nots.” 

He almost laughs. _Forget-me-nots_. They’re apt for this conversation. 

“And I should have had the lavender.” Caleb squishes him, and then pauses, “How- how do you know that- forget-me-nots?”

“It seemed right.” Molly lies easily. “You said you wouldn’t forget me.”

Caleb softens again.

“Right.” He says, not entirely believing, “That’s right.”

He doesn’t make comments on it, though, just lets Molly wriggle and nestle closer to him, until _closer_ is physically impossible. 

 

The movie chirps on, bright slogans of friendship and songs, and they’re just about at Rarity’s reunion with the other Rainbow Princesses, already most of the way to sleep, when Molly speaks again.

“Caleb.” He says, voice slurred by sleep, “I’m sorry.”

“Hm?”

“I lied.” Molly draws away, “About the forget-me-nots. I- I think I know, who it is. I just-” The stress is waking him up and he’s a little mad about it, he frowns, “Between you not liking it, and _them_ asking me not to tell you until they’re ready-” 

“Molly.” Caleb interrupts, hand pattering around for the TV remote, “It is- it’s okay.” He finds it, turns the movie off, and they’re left in dark silence, lit only by the dim light from the street lamps outside filtering through the closed blinds.

Molly frowns a little more, shoulders drawing up, and Caleb sighs, reaches up and strokes gently up and down Molly’s arm.

“I understand why you lied, and I am even more appreciative that you told me the truth- I understand, the need for, for privacy.”

Molly recognises the tone, the even pace and flow of the words, the deliberate way it’s done.  
It’s a signature mark of therapy. And it’s something easy and familiar to Molly. 

“Lying to you felt wrong.” Molly falls into the simple flow himself, “I don’t, uh, I don’t want to do that again. I’ve never thought this way before, for people that I’m going to lose.”

Caleb’s fingers curl around Molly’s arm and tug gently, a suggestion and permission, not a command. Molly sinks back down next to him.

“I cannot imagine being in that kind of situation.” Caleb says softly, “Knowing that everything around you will be different in a month or two. All of the people that you have met and know by face, they will all be gone.”

“ _Don’t get attached_ is rule number one of the travelling carnival.” Molly gives Caleb a somewhat bitter smile that Caleb only catches the edge of in the dark, “I think I’ve stuck to it pretty well. There’s been- I’ve had a couple of people, of course. But the only one that _really_ got me, she- she came with us.”   
  
Ornna. It wasn’t as though she’d had anything to stay for, kicked out by her parents and living in the young people’s foyer just over two years ago. She and Molly had been damn near inseparable for months.   
  
“Ah, unfortunately, you were doomed the moment you set foot in the library.” Caleb’s smile is teasing, and far more visible than Molly’s. Molly shuffles a little closer, snakes an arm across Caleb. 

“Hm? How so?”

“How could you not get attached to me?” Caleb teases, and it makes him sick to talk about himself as though he’s special, but it’s a joke. Just a joke, he reasons. He knows he’s nothing special. He knows.

Molly cuddles closer, wriggles his head into the crook of Caleb’s neck.

“You know, you’re right.” He says softly, close to Caleb’s ear, “I’ve been fucked since the library. You’re an alluring man, Caleb Widogast.”  
Caleb chuckles warmly, blushing at the sentiment and boiling with reasons to disagree. He swallows those down, they’re private. For Caleb only. Nobody else needs to be hurt by him. 

“Go to sleep, Molly.” Is what he says instead. Molly whines a little, and Caleb has to fight the reflexive jerk in response to that.

“But if I sleep, I lose time I could spend appreciating _this_.” He squeezes the arm around Caleb’s waist. Caleb pushes his cheek a little harder to Molly’s head. 

“You are here for a month at least, _ja_? I am happy to do this any time, Mollymauk, you are not the only one that is starved for affection.” 

Molly shakes with near-silent laughter, the stutter of breath the only distinction between that and sobs.

“I’ve not met anyone like you before, you know?” Molly sighs, “Most people are only interested in getting down to the one night stands.”

Caleb shifts the arm over Molly, puts his hand on Molly’s hip instead.  
It’s only then that he realises how oddly slight Molly is, Caleb can feel the line of his hip bone against his palm, his skin is warm and smooth and Caleb’s thumb brushes back and forth just to collect the data of the sensation. 

“Sleep, Molly.” Caleb says, instead of all the things he wants to, “I will be here in the morning.”

Molly sighs his response, but relents, settling against Caleb and closing his eyes.

 

Caleb drops his arm back around Molly, and squeezes weakly as he falls away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wakeup and a hangout- an unfortunate discovery.  
> Lesbians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation help for This Chapter-  
> m'eudail, "My darling"  
> tha gaol agam ort, "I love you."
> 
> less. direct but thats what you need to know, have fun!

Nott trails Jester around the tents and stalls for a few hours after she arrives, Jester hasn’t managed quite to get off of teller shift, but it’s fine, she enjoys it anyway. She uses Nott as her lure, the first reading, and when they shift to a new place, a different kind. Jester knows better than to go back to the tarot cards multiple times for the same person, she knows she’s not as extravagant as Molly, but she’s good in her own way. Her cards are deep blue backed, constellations in little white dots and pretty illustrations, it’s a set that she’s made herself.

When she retires for the night, she hands them to Nott to look through, and Nott studies them individually and carefully whilst Jester strips off.

“ _So_ ,” Jester trills as she comes back into the main room, Nott puts the cards carefully back in their velvet pouch, “Let’s talk about _girl stuff_. Like, what’s your soulmate mark? And where is it?”  
  
Nott tucks the cards carefully onto one of the little tables at the side of the sofa.  
  
“Mine is over my heart.” She grins, tugs the collar of her polo shirt until Jester can see the white petals of what looks like a large daisy creeping up toward her collarbone.  
  
“Ooh, _pretty_!” Jester comes to sit next to Nott, “Have you met your soulmate yet?”  
  
Nott laughs, an odd kind of laugh, neither bitter nor genuine, and shakes her head.  
  
“I’m not- I’m not really interested in romance, or dating, so I don’t go looking. I have Caleb, I have Yasha. They’re all that I need.”

“Oh! Is Yasha- is she Caleb’s _girlfriend_?”

“No!” Nott is aghast at the very concept, “ _No_ , ew, no. Caleb is gay, so- no. Yasha likes girls, Caleb doesn’t.”

“Oh, Caleb is gay?” Jester’s eyes widen, there’s a terrifying hint of a grin that has Nott’s nerves cranking up.

“I- probably shouldn’t have outed him to you.” Nott pulls a face, and Jester waves a hand,

“I won’t mention it to anyone else, it’ll be okay. What do you think of the tarot cards?”

“Oh, no-” Nott’s worry dissipates to a grin, “You don’t get out of this conversation like that- what’s _your_ soulmate mark? Have you met _them_ yet?”

Jester pulls the sleeve of her t-shirt down, opening the collar over her right shoulder. There’s two huge, white roses, splayed over the whole curve. Nott marvels at them, the way that they simultaneously blend in with, and are stark against her pale skin. It’s odd, as Jester shifts, they seem to smooth into the rest of the skin, and at other angles, they’re so obvious that it could be black-and-white.

“I haven’t met them yet.” Jester tells Nott, almost shyly, tugging her collar back up to her neck, “But I will one day. I travel and I talk, I have to!”

Nott sighs, somewhere between exasperation and contentment.

“Good luck. Hey, want to see my knife?”

“Yes.” Jester leans forward without hesitation, “ _Fuck_ , yes.”

 

 

Caleb wakes up friday morning with Molly sleeping almost on top of him, and he expects himself to panic, but he just… doesn’t. In fact, the weight of Molly’s body against his own seems to be pressing all the right places to be just what Caleb needs, he doesn’t feel anxious or worried. All he feels is warm and grounded and Molly, soft and a little squishy in Caleb’s arms. He smells like lavender and the somewhat musty bed, distinctly a blend of Molly and Caleb and it makes Caleb’s chest burn and ache in ways it hasn’t for years.

He opens his eyes only briefly, only long enough to see and study Molly’s face, cheek smooshed by Caleb’s chest where his head lays, freckles stark in the pale, muffled morning light, and then Caleb closes his eyes again and relaxes back.  
He tests just how squishy Molly is, how soft his clothes are, how smooth his skin is in the little slithers that Caleb doesn’t mean to have his hands on but does.

Molly sleeps soundly, makes gentle cooing noises when Caleb brushes a particularly sensitive patch of skin- mostly his waist, Caleb has found- but otherwise, he’s still and steady, the only movement is his breathing.  
Part of Caleb never wants him to wake up. Just to stay here, on his chest, sleeping steadily forever, so that Caleb can document and feel and look at him as long as he likes.

But unfortunately, Caleb knows that he’d miss Molly.

He twitches hard when that thought makes words in his head, it jerks poor Molly awake and Caleb tries not to pant as Molly comes to, blinking himself awake against Caleb’s chest.

“Hm? Morning, _m’eudail_ , are you okay?” he turns his head, rests his chin on Caleb instead of his cheek. Caleb smiles back, a little uneasy, and combs his fingers gently through Molly’s wild furls of hair.

“It’s fine, _Liebling,_ go back to sleep.” He assures, and this has Molly pulling his arms up, he folds them under his chin and blinks at Caleb.

“You’re deliberately avoiding the question. Can I help?”

Caleb sighs gently through a smile, tucks his arms around Molly a little tighter.

“Do you remember that you said you did not think that I am someone who would get attached easily?”

Molly hums as he thinks about it.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, as it turns out- you were wrong. I have, um. Already grown attached.”

Molly’s face first registers shock, an emptying of all that was there a second before, slack and confused. Slowly, his face fills with an indisputable expression of _joy_ , bright grin and crinkled eyes and the little sparkle of tears, he’s so happy.

“To me?” He asks Caleb, tentative through the smile, as though he believes it could be anything else.

Caleb feels his face mirroring Molly’s joy without his approval, but leans into it. Molly deserves it, deserves this, someone to care about and love him.

“ _Ja_ , of course, to you. You are something- something special.”

Molly makes a distinctly cat-like trilling noise and shifts to bury his face in Caleb’s shirt, the gap his arms leave making a tight ring across the top of his head but he doesn’t want Caleb to know just yet what that means. It worries him, of course it does, but that can come later.  
Now, he’s focused only on hiding his dumb smile from Caleb.  
Caleb, to his part, chuckles at the display and goes back to drawing little shapes on Molly’s back.  
  
“You can go back to sleep for a while, if you want.” Caleb tells Molly, “I can wake you, when we get to the point of needing it.”

“No, this is nice. I slept well. What about you?” Molly pulls his face from Caleb’s chest, and finds the softest smile waiting for him,

“I have not slept so well in months. Years, perhaps.” he says genuinely, “I should have you here more often.”

“I’m yours whenever you need me.” Molly smiles and presses a kiss to Caleb’s shoulder, for lack of a better, accessible location. Caleb gives a soft snort of laughter.

“I may hold you to that.”

“Feel free.” Molly grins and finally rolls off, Caleb feels the loss of pressure so acutely that the absence itself hurts

“Oh.” Caleb says softly, and Molly grins at him from the messy tangle of hair and blankets that he is on the other side of the air mattress.

“We didn’t drink our hot chocolate.” He tells Caleb brightly.

Something, a curl deep inside of Caleb, a soft breeze, a whisper, the first shoot of a long-buried seed begins to call to him. Telling him that he should kiss Molly.  
But he won’t. He can’t. He doesn’t deserve that.  
Molly deserves better, too.

Caleb lets out a soft _oof_ as Molly crawls back to lie on him again.

“Thinking too hard, Caleb.” he chides, tone gentle, and Caleb smiles for him.

“It is always the way with me.”

“If you ever need a distraction, you let me know.” Molly grins, reaches up to tap the tip of Caleb’s nose gently, “I’m apparently _very_ distracting.” and he’s up and off again, borderline cackling, forcing Caleb to sit up and watch him move.

Molly’s hair is tangled and wild around him, likely that it will need a decent, careful brushing to tame it back into place but for now he doesn’t seem to care, humming happily as he takes the disc from the DVD player and returns it to the case, picks the two cold cups of what was supposed to be hot chocolate from the table, looks at them for a moment.

And chugs one of them, straight up.

Or straight down, at least.

Caleb’s jaw drops.

“That is- I’m not sure if that is disgusting, or impressive.” Caleb tells Molly, watching his throat work with the effort of not choking, and he sees a crinkle of a smile around the edge of the cup.

The oversized shirt that Molly sleeps in does a lot to disguise the curve of his chest, not that it’s something Caleb is actively observing, he’s just built to take in all details. And, when Molly turns back to face him with a shit-eating grin disguised by a swipe of the back of his hand to his mouth, Caleb’s eyes are drawn to his collarbone and the flash of skin beneath from the v-neck.  
He blinks his gaze back to Molly’s eyes, finds the grin changed into more of a smirk.  
Caleb flushes.

“I- Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, darling,” Molly smiles and moves to the door, ruffles Caleb’s hair with one hand as he passes, “I know I’m a sight to behold. You should be honoured, though!” The last of this a call from the kitchen, and Caleb scrambles to his feet to follow,

“Honoured? I am, but, honoured?”

“First,” Molly turns and holds up a single finger, “Nobody else has ever woken up with me _still_ in their bed. You’re the first!”

Caleb’s eyes widen and his flush darkens, it makes Molly’s smile widen just a little more.

“Second.” He holds up a second finger, and his expression sends a thrill of dark excitement through Caleb. “ _Very_ few people get to see me without the binder. That’s the true victory of this ordeal, I think.”

“You do not seem bothered.” Caleb leans on the counter beside the sink as Molly turns back and washes the cups out, “By the binder, I mean.”  
Molly shrugs.

“It’s a weird sitch, I think. I need it to be comfortable in everyday life, even though I _can_ pass with or without it. And even some of my closer friends- like Jester- I have to wear it around them, because it sets something off up here.” He taps his head a couple of times, shoots Caleb a quick smile and receives one back in reassurance. “The one-night-stands and the casual fucks all have a prerequisite of _touch my binder and I touch your knives_. But sometimes, I’m just that kind of comfortable around people.” 

He pauses, frowns, turns the water off.

“Not usually for cuddling, though. Even Gustav and Desmond.”

“Then I am honoured,” Caleb cuts in before Molly can think too much about it, “That I can be that for you.”

It achieves the desired effect. Molly’s frown fades into a smile again, and Caleb can no longer battle back his impulsive urges- he steps the distance between them and pulls Molly into a warm- if damp- hug. Molly shakes his hands to either side before he reciprocates, sends a spray of water everywhere.  
Molly sighs into the embrace, feels Caleb smile. It’s a good feeling.

“You should text Beau, we should all hang out sometime.” Molly’s voice is muffled by Caleb’s hair and shoulder but he’s close enough to be heard anyway. Caleb draws them apart to talk,

“That sounds, very nice, I think. Fjord is, very sweet, and Beau- Beauregard is… interesting.”

“That’s one way to say annoying.” Molly rolls his eyes affectionately, “I’d do it myself, but…” He lets go of Caleb to splay his empty hands, and Caleb chuckles.

“ _Nein_ , I can do it. We are inviting Jester too, _ja_?”

“Of course! And Nott, and-” Molly pauses briefly, “And Yasha.”

Caleb, halfway through a text, stops and shifts his phone to one hand. He offers Molly the other, and Molly takes it gratefully.

“Are you sure? She will not be upset, if you cannot deal with it.”

Molly chews his lip for only a couple of seconds of thought, and steels himself hard. Caleb sees the determination in his eyes as it settles,

“I’m sure! I was, uh, pretty rude. And I gotta see how she’s going to change my life, right?” Molly smile is nervous at the edges, but determined elsewhere, and Caleb squeezes his hand, gently.

“You are definitely sure?” Caleb asks, needs to be convinced, and Molly nods.

“I am, invite her.” The nervousness has gone. Molly is harshly determined now. Caleb smiles for him.

“I will- I will text them all now. When-?”

“When are you next free? You work too. So does Beau.”

“I will organise for it. Is there any time that _isn’t_ accessible?”

“Weekends.” Molly replies without pause, “Jester works all day Friday to Sunday, practicing.”

“I will try next Monday, the library is closed Mondays, and let you know. I will be at the carnival tomorrow, too, Jester has asked Nott.”

“And I do owe her that ghost train ride.” Molly groans, “Tomorrow is my last night of being banned from duty, so I’ll be free, if you don't mind a tag-along?”

Molly smiles almost apologetically, and Caleb rolls his eyes,

“Not if the tag-along is you, Mollymauk.”

Molly shifts, winds an arm around Caleb’s waist and settles his head on his shoulder, watches as Caleb goes back to texting Jester and Beau.

 

Beau, splayed out across Fjord’s legs, groans as her phone buzzes. For the fourth time in thirty seconds.

“Ugh- Y’should get that-” Fjord groans, tips his head back, “An’ some fuckin’ water. I keep sayin’ that I ain’t drinkin’ with you again.”

“No _-ooo_ , I don’t wanna move, it hurts.” Beau whines, face-first in the sofa.

“Eugh.” Is Fjord’s only reply, weakly jostling one leg, shaking Beau around.

“Keep doin’ that, I’m gonna hurl.” She warns. Fjord doesn’t stop.

“Git.”

“I’ll do it on your sofa.”

Buzz buzz.

“No, y’wont. ‘Cause I’ll never talk t’ you again.”

Jostle jostle.

“Ugh.” Beau rolls off of Fjord’s legs and catches herself on her hands and knees, crawls the short distance to her phone, grabs the bin on the way.

Buzz buzz.  
And Beau takes a short break from trying to enter her passcode to be sick, thankful the bin is more of a plastic bucket than the cross-pattern waste baskets she owns.

“Blech.” Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, shifts a little more alert when she reads the name of the person texting her.

“S’Caleb.” She tells Fjord, “Wants t’ know if we’re free next Monday, wants to hang out. Are you workin’?”

“Naw, not ‘til late.” Fjord curls himself up on the sofa, “What’s he wanna do?”

“Lake.” Beau answers simply, shoots off a quick text. Fjord hums,

“Sounds fun. Hey, talkin’ of lakes, water, get me a glass?”

Beau groans as she pulls herself to her feet and shuffles through to the kitchen.

“Fine.”

 

“Beau and Fjord are in.” Caleb tells Molly, forcing himself not to chuckle as he watches Molly roll across the slowly deflating bed.

“Didn’t ask, what’re we doing?”

“There is a lake, not too far from- from all of us. You are not _meant_ to swim in it, but… people do. It’s a nice place.” Caleb’s smile is strange, Molly sees it distantly, as though it is full of memories. He stops rolling to stare.  
  
Caleb is miles away for a good few seconds, his brain blissfully still, calling up only a mental picture of the golden sunlight dappled across the surface of the river that runs into the lake, the bright green of the tree leaves, the pebble beach.  
He blinks himself out of his mental construct and finds Molly’s mismatched eyes on him, flushes under the scrutiny.

“You alright, Caleb?” He asks, gentle, and Caleb smiles and nods, doesn’t even need to think about it.

“ _Ja_ , I’m good. Come on, we should pack up, you need to- to leave.”

“Ugh, shame.” Molly goes back to his rolling, “I enjoy spending time with you.”

Caleb hefts one of his throw pillows roughly at Molly’s head, miraculously makes contact, Molly yelps.

“ _Now_ who’s making it sound as though we’ve been on multiple dates, hm?”

Molly throws the pillow right back and sits up, grinning,

“You said you’ve never been on a date, right?”

Caleb’s confidence shivers its way into nerves instead. He nods, pulls the edge of his collar to his mouth to chew on it. Molly throws his hands up,

“Then why don’t we?” With beautiful, childish innocence. Caleb tilts his head in confusion.

“Why don’t we _what_?”

“Go on a date.” Molly hears himself speak and is _immediately_ horrified. Of course Caleb wouldn’t want to go on a date! He shouldn’t even be _asking_ , he can’t afford to fall- to care, too much about Caleb.  
He’ll be gone in a month. Caleb is just blinking at him, watching Molly’s bright excitement slip with each second of silence into complete horror and painful regret.

“I- shit, I wasn’t thinking, sorry. Just, forget I said anything?”

“No!” Caleb’s voice is louder than he’d intended, “I mean- _sheiße_ , Molly, I’d- I’d like that.”

“What?” It’s Molly’s turn to blink in confusion, and Caleb’s heartbeat makes his breath shake.

“I’d like to- to go. On a date.”

Molly gives an incredulous laugh halfway between joy and mania, presses his face into his palm and runs his hand up to take a fistful of his own hair.

“Oh no.” Caleb hears him mumble through a strained grin. “Oh _no_.”

“Have I, said something wrong?” Caleb asks, he kneads the sofa under his fingers for the grounding sensation, and Molly’s head shoots up to him. He crawls from the bed, up to Caleb’s knees, and folds his arms on Caleb’s legs so he can rest his chin on them.

“ _You_ haven’t, darling, don’t stress. I just- probably shouldn’t have- any of this.” Molly waves a hand, “I’ll be gone soon. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can enjoy you whilst you are here.” Caleb’s raw nerves are soothed, he leans forward, down, presses a kiss to the top of Molly’s head and makes him chuckle.

“Thank you.” Molly sighs softly, take a moment just to appreciate the warmth of Caleb under him.

“You should get ready to leave.” Caleb says, brushes one of Molly’s wild curls away from his face and tucks it behind his ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow, we can organise our date then.”

Molly turns so that he can kiss the inside of Caleb’s wrist.  
Caleb, Molly notices, doesn’t make an effort to hide his mark or his scars in his house, though he keeps his long sleeves. There’s the curling, pearlescent brand of the burn scars, all down his arm and under Molly’s lips when he kisses, but Caleb doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shy away. Just smiles.

“You, Mollymauk, are wonderful.” He says, without thinking, but believes it. Means it. Molly beams.

“And you’re charming. _Right_ , time to leave!” Molly smiles and stands, sudden, Caleb’s hands slip from Molly’s skin, and he finds himself disappointed at the loss.

 

Caleb sees Molly three more times before Monday rolls around- twice on Saturday, once on Sunday, and between them they manage to organise their date.

They choose a nice café in Blackwater, swing it so that Molly can pick Caleb up, too. It’s supposed to be casual, but in the car on the way to the lake, Molly finds himself planning out what he’s going to wear.  
It’s not as though he has much _choice_. Most of his room is taken up by his bed- a deliberately chosen double, Molly likes his space- and it doesn’t leave a lot for clothing storage. Money doesn’t leave a lot for clothing storage, either- sure, Gustav pays Molly well enough that he _could_ , if he wanted to, but Molly prefers to splurge his cash on the fun of life.

Like this.

Caleb is in his front seat, laughing at some dumb joke that Nott and Yasha are making and drumming his newly-painted nails on the dashboard; Jester is in Fjord’s car behind them.

It seems, for the first time in a long time- possibly ever- that Molly’s life is just fine.

Caleb’s laugh dies away, he swipes the back of his hand over his eyes to brush away the tears gathering there. And he looks over to Molly, eyes half on the road, half on Caleb.

“Focus on the road, _Liebling_. You can focus on me later.”

Molly lets out a breath through a smile. “ _M’eudail,_ ” so quiet, that Caleb might have missed it, were he not so focused on Molly, “Ah, _tha gaol agam ort._ ”

“What language _is_ that?” Caleb tilts his head, Molly turns a corner a little too sharply in his shock, narrowly avoids hitting the curb. They bump along down a dirt road.

“It’s- uh- Gustav taught us. Gàidhlig- Scots Gaelic.”

“What did you say?” Caleb leans closer, Molly carefully parks, uses this as an excuse to avoid replying. They climb out of the car as Fjord pulls in, and Caleb comes and catches Molly’s arm, links them together,

“Molly? What did you say?”

Molly smiles cryptically and kisses Caleb’s hair.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“ _Moll-y_!” Jester tears over and hugs him so hard that it jerks Molly free of Caleb’s arm, “You’re so _cute_!”

“It is adorable that you’re getting on so well with _my_ soulmate.” Yasha tries to joke, and is welcomed by a couple of cringing hisses from Jester and Caleb.

 

There’s a few moments of pure, awkward silence, before Molly bursts into laughter, and the tension is released immediately.

 

 

Caleb and Molly sit together on the shoreline whilst the others swim. Molly, curled to Caleb’s side, head on his shoulder, warm and content whilst Caleb reads.  
Fjord tells them all that he’s an excellent swimmer, and they challenge him to prove it but he refuses, citing _not wanting to take his shirt off_ as the reason.  
Molly can see Jester and Nott plotting to the side.  
Nott sits in the shallows, a fear of deep water and drowning, and watches as Jester goes back and forth between Yasha and Beau and her.

“Didn’t realise Caleb had any hot friends.” Beau grins to Yasha, treading water beside her, and Yasha smiles back, rolls her eyes.

“Caleb doesn’t have a lot of friends.” It could be snark, it could be honesty, Beau can’t tell and she squints a little for it.

“Y’know, I don’t think he’s noticed yet but, uh,” Beau lifts her left hand from the water, and for a moment, Yasha is so distracted by the glisten of each droplet that she doesn’t notice the forget-me-nots. But when she does, her eyes widen, and she draws in a gasp.

“Yeah.” Beau says, “I know.”

“You know that Caleb- um.” Yasha pauses and looks over to Caleb, curled on a blanket on the warm sand, with Molly. “I- probably shouldn’t say that, actually. You should talk to him.”

“What’s the point?” Beau ruffles through her hair- loose from its ties for the water- with her left hand, “I know Molly’s got this big idea that soulmates ain’t romantic, that they’re just, like, whoever you fit with best, I think? But I don’t know. I don’t know if I believe that.”

Yasha looks from Molly on the shore to Beau, treading water in front of her, and cocks her head with an odd kind of smile.  
Beau’s eyes widen a fraction,

“I mean- if you’re not, uh- if you believe that, that’s fair! Molly’s cool but I don’t know if I’d want him as a soulmate- don’t, don’t fuckin’ tell him I said he’s cool, I’m- that’s not true. He’s not cool.”

Yasha chuckles, warmth in the sound, she reaches out tentatively and touches Beau’s shoulder.

“No. Well, you know- I do, believe, I think, that soulmates aren’t always who you’re meant to fall in love with. If they were...” she looks back to Molly and Caleb.

They’ve shifted, now, Molly’s head in Caleb’s lap. Caleb reads with one hand, strokes gently through Molly’s hair with the other, idly, without even thinking about it.

“Wouldn’t be me with the forget-me-nots, huh?” Beau picks up the trailing end of Yasha’s sentence, follows her eyes back to the shore.

“Or me with the lavender.” Yasha’s voice has the edge of a smile, and when Beau looks over- what do you know?

Yasha is smiling.

It’s not like Molly’s smile, not a wide, bright thing, just the softest curve of the edges of her lips. But Beau looks, has to fight not to freeze in the water because it’s _beautiful_. The most beautiful smile, she thinks, that she has ever seen.

And from there it’s a waterfall tumble. Beau goes from Yasha’s smile to her eyes, the way they glimmer in the bright of the sun, and how each colour reflects. Her green eye, Beau finds, turns almost to forest colours in the iris, the viridian of the leaves fading to the vivid chartreuse of the daylight; and her brown eye turns to gold in the sunshine.  
Her hair, slicked down with the way she’s been diving and pulled back from her face, shining with the runoff and the reflection, dark roots fading gracefully to pale ends, twined still with little crystals and ribbons in a way similar to the style of the circus.  
The smooth, pale skin of her shoulders and the stretch of her neck when she turns and Beau lets herself, then, stop moving and slip under the water, silently, without so much as a _plip_.

The water is clear enough that she can keep her eyes open despite the discomfort, forces herself to sink about a foot and keeps her eyes on Yasha.

And screams.

It’s impulsive, she doesn’t really mean to, how else is she supposed to deal with all of these- ugh- _feelings_? She just drops underwater, emotionally recollects herself, opens her mouth.

And she screams.

There’s a burst of bubbles around her, the ripples and sensation become all and for a moment, she feels better. Light. Free, when she closes her mouth with half her lungs still full.

And then Yasha hauls her up and out, winds an arm around her waist and wraps a hand around her arm and pulls her up to the surface, holds her above, almost gently, as she splutters with the shock of it.

“Y-Yasha?” She manages through coughs, and hears vaguely soothing noises for a moment before Yasha looks up and shouts for Fjord.

Fjord looks up at his name, halfway through a splash war with Jester- refereed by Nott, of course- and falls prey to one of Jester’s _tsunami_ attacks. Still spluttering and dripping, he spots Beau, coughing up water in Yasha’s arms and decides, well, fuck it. He’s already damp. Might as well help.  
He strips his shirt off and throws it over the wooden stands of the pier before taking off in a powerful front stroke, lightning through the water.  
In the split second view they get of Fjord’s bare chest before he’s off and away, Jester turns to Nott with wide eyes. Nott doesn’t see her, too busy staring after Fjord as he cuts through the water, mouth slightly ajar in shock.

In the split second between Fjord peeling off his shirt and taking off into the water, both Nott and Jester had gotten an eyeful of a purple-blue flower, an iris, ruffled petals curling across his heart.

 

Between Yasha and Fjord, they manage to haul Beau back to the shore, manage to cover all three of them in sand as they pull her up the beach. She protests, dully, that she’s fine, they don’t need to do this, hey Fjord get the fuck off. Caleb looks up from his book and his Molly at the noise, smiles at the commotion that Beau has kicked up, at Fjord’s back as he jumps away from Beau’s quick fists.

“Is everything alright?” Caleb asks, because it’s polite to ask and Fjord turns. Whatever he says, Caleb doesn’t hear. His eyes have found the petals of the iris in a location that he _knows_. The hand still in Molly’s hair clenches a little, he hears a peep of shock and slight pain from Molly but his eyes are too busy trying to burn the iris straight off of Fjord’s body.

Caleb whips his head around to Nott, scrambling up the embankment toward him, Jester in tow.

“Caleb!” Nott calls, her voice rushed and breathy from the climb, “I-”

“I know. I have seen. Come here.”

Nott comes to his side, damp and sandy, presses into him under the arm with his book. She shivers, though she’s not cold, curls as close as she can and Caleb drops the book a little behind himself so that he can pull that hand to her shoulder and rub, gentle, Molly cranes his head back to catch Caleb’s blue gaze in his own.

_Everything okay?_

Caleb sees Molly mouth, and gives a soft, careful sigh.

“Uh, Caleb?” Fjord tilts his head, takes a step closer and stops when Caleb tenses and crowds his arms possessively around Nott and Molly. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I think that we should go home.” Caleb says, shockingly cold in tone, “I- I would like to go home, now. I’m sorry, Molly.” The last is dropped low to Molly, Caleb walls them in with his arms for the intimacy, Molly’s head still tilted back in his lap. Caleb expects Molly to be mad, or upset, but more than anything, he just looks worried.  
Beau has managed to pull herself to her feet, leaning on Yasha and still coughing up water every now and then, but she doesn’t seem hurt. Just sandy, and gay. The expression she’s giving Yasha- not that Yasha has noticed- almost makes Caleb smile through his writhing pool of negativity.

“Of course, darling.” Molly says, breaks the reverie as he sits and takes the hand that Caleb had previously threaded through his hair. “No problem.”

Molly kisses Caleb’s knuckles, all the softness in the world, and Caleb’s breath comes out as a content sigh, rather than a tense huff.  
Nott’s eyes narrow on Molly, defensive, she draws herself around Caleb a little tighter and Caleb feels Molly smile, lips still pressed to his skin.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight, recovery, hope.

When Molly pulls up on the street in Bleakburn, Caleb expects them to be alone.  
But no, it seems he can’t shed Fjord, and instead of being angry on the beach, now, Caleb gets to be angry in the street. 

His fists ball, when Fjord stops them and turns to Caleb.

“Have I done somethin’ that’s pissed y’ off? Did I step on your fuckin’ cat? You’ve been weird since I got outta th’ water, what, are y’ mad that _I_ touched _your_ soulmate or somethin’?” 

“None of that is- wait.” Caleb’s brain backlog runs through, and he registers what Fjord has said.

“Fuck.” Beau hisses, shuffling toward Yasha. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let my fuckin’ friend drown, alright? Yasha asked for my help an’ I went for Beau, because _she_ needed help.” 

“No I didn’t!” Beau chirps from her place, back pressed to Yasha’s and trying desperately to hide behind her form. Yasha battles down a chuckle, reaches to pat awkwardly behind her at the places she feels Beau press.  
Fjord looks over, briefly, and when his eyes come back to Caleb, all of the fight drains out of him. Caleb is cupping his left hand in his right, staring at the stem on his middle finger, poking out from the bandages he’s replaced there now. 

“Oh.” Fjord says, softly. “You didn’t know.”

Molly comes quickly to Caleb’s side, presses his chest to Caleb’s back and his hand to Caleb’s hip, like he’s trying to wall off the world.

“It’s okay.” Molly mumbles softly, “It’s just a mark. It’s okay.”

Caleb’s gaze slides, from his mark, to Molly, back to Fjord, and his shoulders square and tense. The fire comes back to his eyes, and he shoves Molly back with his left hand, not hard, not angry for him, just for the distance.

“No, I did _not_ , and it makes no difference anyway. You and I- here and now-” Caleb tries his best to be terrifying, to make his tone thunderous, to put the tumultuous storm he feels inside into his movements as he draws his hands up and into fists. He pays no kind of mind to his thin, weak form, shivering from the anger and the rush of adrenaline that he fights off, carefully. Caleb isn’t a physical fighter, never has been, but he knows the theory. 

“Why? What’ve I done?” Fjord yelps, eyes on Caleb’s balled fists, shaking despite the warm sunlight.

“Your mark.” Caleb replies, tries very hard to keep the venom in his voice.

“What about it?” Fjord lifts his hands, a placating gesture, “Caleb, calm down.”

“It’s Nott’s. That is Nott’s mark.”

“Nott?” Fjord’s startled gaze goes to her, and silently, Nott nods. Tugging her collar, just a little, just enough for Fjord to catch the edge of the chamomile flowers curling just under her collarbone.

“Oh.” Says Fjord. “Caleb, though, what d’you think punchin’ me out will do? Will it help?”

“No.” Caleb agrees, “It will not help.”

Fjord gives a soft sigh, drops his hands a little bit, and that’s when Caleb takes his first swing.  
He takes it with his left hand, non-dominant and bandaged, as best he can to Fjord’s solar plexus. It’s not the strongest, by far, nowhere near enough to achieve the effect Caleb truly wants but it shocks Fjord enough for him to take a step back and widen his eyes. 

“Caleb!” Molly gasps, steps in and Caleb turns, shoves his shoulders, hard,

“You- you leave this. This is my fight.”

“Caleb, stop!” Nott comes to Molly’s side, eyes wide and fearful and Caleb turns back, ignores her. Takes his second swing, and Fjord swings an arm up this time to deflect it, catches Caleb’s wrist with his forearm and swings it wide.  
Caleb takes the opportunity and momentum, moves his whole body to duck under Fjord’s arm and tries a jab, instead, at Fjord’s ribs.   
Fjord manages to glance away from the majority of the force, but it still aches. 

“What do I do?” He yips to Jester, standing by Yasha with wide eyes and frozen form, she shifts immediately toward them,

“I- I can, Caleb! _Caleb_!” 

Jester steps in, Caleb manages to shift out of the way of her hands and Fjord turns to him, gives him another opening with his right hand. It’s a clear path, Fjord’s block and move has left his chest undefended and Caleb _swings_ \- 

His wrist is caught, quick and easy and twisted up his back in a way that is more restraining than painful. There’s a definite twinge, though, and as he goes to swat with his bandaged left, that’s caught and pinned, too.

Jester steps between the newly restrained Caleb and Fjord, shifts her back to Fjord’s chest so that she can feel his breathing at her shoulders. It seems relatively steady, despite Caleb’s initial blow, so she relaxes a little bit.

Caleb writhes, at first, strains to get free, but the grip on his wrists is tight. Eventually, he goes limp, and the stranger that has caught him allows Molly to take him from them, makes sure he sags on Molly’s shoulder before they let go and wave brightly at Jester.

“Hello!”

Because that’s the greeting you expect from someone who has just pinned your friend’s arms to his back.

Fjord is speechless, Jester, as ever, grins brightly and jumps in to shake the stranger’s hand.  
Whilst Jester bonds with the new friend- Calianna, as she manages to get out of her about a minute of rapid conversation in- Nott and Molly crowd to Caleb. 

“Sweetheart,” Molly murmurs soothingly, one arm around Caleb’s waist to hold him up, “Is everything okay?”  
Caleb’s whole body shudders, he remains stubbornly limp against Molly, arms splayed loosely around Molly’s shoulders and face in the crook of his neck but quiet. Too quiet, and Molly evens his own concerned breathing. 

“I’m going to ask Nott some questions about you, since I don’t know if you could answer them.” Molly says quietly to Caleb, “You can answer if you’re up to it. Nott?”

“Is he okay?” Nott jumps as though she’s been waiting for this opening, and Molly gives her an odd kind of smile.

“I don’t know. He’s not talking or moving, so since _you_ know him better-” 

“Pick him up.” Yasha is the one to answer, she comes up and sets a hand to Molly’s back, for lack of access to his shoulder. Molly looks to her, concern on his face.

“Is that okay?” More to Caleb than Yasha, he feels Caleb nod a little and ducks to sweep him up.  
Caleb is shockingly, terrifyingly light, even Molly finds it easy to pick him from the floor. Caleb is still very loose, but making an active effort now to keep his face buried in the crook of Molly’s neck. 

“I want to go home, Molly.” He says softly, “Please.”

“Of course, darling.” Molly smiles, attempts a kiss to Caleb’s cheek and ends up kissing his ear instead, but it shifts the same emotions.

“Make my excuses?” He asks Yasha quietly, and she nods, pats the spot on his back.

“Thank you. Take care of him.”

“I will. Coming, Nott?”

Nott looks between Caleb and Fjord and drops her shoulders determinedly.

“No- no, I think I should- should stay. Figure this out.”

Caleb’s arms tighten around Molly’s shoulders.

“I don’t think Caleb likes that idea very much.” Molly tries to keep his tone lilting, but Nott frowns,

“He’ll have to! Sorry, Caleb, but this- this is my problem! I’m not stupid, I’m not a child, I have Yasha if anything goes wrong! You have Molly, you go home.”

Caleb shudders a moment and then slackens, sighs, and Molly nods.

“Smart choice, Nott. Thank you. You’ll be alright, I know- I trust you.”

He doesn’t miss her freeze, but doesn’t force her to dwell- he inclines his head and turns, carries Caleb away down the street despite the odd looks they’re getting.

 

“Darling, are you up to unlocking the door? I don’t want to go through your pockets…” Molly kicks the gate closed behind him and plods up the steps, Caleb takes a huff of breath.

“I can do it.” he says, quiet against Molly’s neck, and Molly’s arms shake as he sets Caleb to the floor.

Caleb keeps one arm around Molly, uses the other to dig into his pocket and pull the key out, unlocks the door.

“I can leave now, if you want me to?” Molly says softly, uneasy, and Caleb shakes his head hard, drops his arm from Molly’s shoulders to his hand and pulls him inside. Molly follows readily, pushes the door closed behind him. Caleb drags him up the stairs- an odd, turning combination- and drops the keys at the bottom as he does.  
Second floor. They pass a toilet, what Molly assumes is Nott’s bedroom at the end, and he’s pulled into what appears to be a _guest_ bedroom- he wouldn’t attribute this plain cream colour scheme to Caleb, and the man himself is still pulling Molly along, up another, smaller set of varnished wooden stairs and lifting a hatch at the top. 

It’s an attic room.

Now this _is_ Caleb’s room. 

It seems small, compared to the rooms on the floor below, seems as though it’s been half-converted from the attic, a wall separates the storage space and the bedroom. Caleb has a three-quarter bed tucked into a little alcove, satin-looking brown and silver bedclothes.

Caleb lets go of Molly’s hand and sheds his coat and boots in a little pile that he kicks under his desk, collapses onto his own bed with a soft creaking of springs.  
Molly carefully takes off his own shoes and comes to sit on the bed beside Caleb’s form, face-down in the pillows. 

“Is it alright if I lie down with you?”

Caleb makes a muffled noise into the pillow, and then turns his face so that Molly can hear his words. Word.

“Binder.”

And he turns back. Molly chuckles and shifts an arm, curls it up his back to unzip- he’d put this one on deliberately; if he needs to re-bind quick-sharp, it’s easier to get Caleb to zip it back up than to put a whole binder back on after taking it off. It’s a little uncomfortable, sure, but short-term solution, it’s functional.  
He sinks down beside Caleb, on his side, left hand cushioning his face and smiling, gently. 

“ _Cay-leb_ ,” he lilts, soft as you like, and reaches his free hand out to trace patterns over Caleb’s shoulder, “Open up.” 

Caleb does, shifts with a creaking of bedsprings to face Molly, pauses up on one elbow for a moment.

“Would you- closer- I-” He tries, too many words and not enough mental presence. Molly shuffles closer anyway, shifts his arms out to Caleb and finds a mess of a man collapsing almost on top of him, winding tight and sobbing into his shoulder.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s okay.” Molly soothes, strokes patterns gently into Caleb’s back. Caleb cries, unrestrained against him.

“I have to protect her.” Molly hears, muffled by his own shoulder, “I can’t- Fjord is so much older than she is-”

“It’s alright, my darling, I understand. Ow- Caleb, could you shift about an inch to the left? You’re kind of- rib- crushing- nipple-”

Caleb shifts and Molly sighs with the relief of it.

“Thank you, _m’eudail_.” Molly kisses Caleb’s hair and squishes his arms around him. Caleb chokes on his own tears, fists balling in Molly’s loose shirt. 

“It’s alright, Caleb. You can cry. You can sleep. We’ll sort everything else out later, it doesn’t need to exist right now.”  
Caleb cries a while longer, it slowly tapers out, slows down, until it slows past the point of calm and into the rhythm of sleep. Molly strokes up and down Caleb’s back the whole time, whispering placations and swallowing the threat of his own tears as he realises that Caleb has cried himself to sleep. 

Nobody, Molly thinks, should ever cry themself to sleep.

Molly hopes, selfishly, that he had made it a little better. A little easier. Made it hurt less.  
He hopes that he’s important.   
And he falls asleep, too.

 

They wake together in a rush to the sound of the front door slamming closed and Nott calling for them. They can hear her making her way up the first set of stairs as Caleb curves his back craning and stretching himself upward, pressing the lower half of his body into Molly’s and drawing a grunt from the man under him.  
Caleb smiles down, small and weak but smug, and Molly pouts as he reaches up and wraps his arms around Caleb’s shoulders, pulls him back down, hard. 

“ _Oof_.” From Caleb, and Molly chuckles on his own breathlessness, the air forced from his lungs by the impact. 

When they get their breath back, it’s to the tune of Nott scrambling up the wooden stairs and Caleb lays his head back on Molly’s shoulder.

“It would be nice,” he says softly, “To stay like this forever.”

Something painful twinges in Molly.

“It won’t last long.” He tells Caleb, sadness above all in his voice, and Nott’s head peeks over the top of the stairs.

“Oh, good.” She sounds almost shocked, “You’re alright. I thought something might have happened, I though Molly might have- have _eaten_ you, or- you know. I just- I worry.” 

“So do I, _Liebling_. Is Fjord okay?” 

“Bruised ribs at the worst.” Nott smiles, scuffles the rest of the way into the room and sits, cross-legged, facing the bed. “He’ll be alright.”

“Good. I- I will apologise to him, later.”

“I think you should, he says you don’t need to. Says he understands the age thing makes it look _weird_.” She pulls a face, “I’m still not a child, though, Caleb.” 

“I know, Nott, I know. I cannot help being protective, though I admit I have certainly overdone it this time.”

“You _definitely_ have.” Nott frowns, “That was far out of order, Caleb.” 

“I know.” Caleb sighs. Molly rubs his back, gentle as always.

“You _will_ apologise,” Nott’s voice is stern, motherly, “And it _will_ be okay.” 

“ _Ja, Nott. Ich verspreche_.”  
_I promise_. 

“Good, thank you.” Nott shifts and shuffles over on her knees to kiss Caleb’s forehead. As she draws back, she looks to Molly, instead, “Molly, Jester said that Gustav wants his car back, and that you’re on shift tonight.”

Molly groans.

“I know.” Nott says, sympathetic, “It’s just gone five, thought you ought to know. See you soon, Caleb!” She pulls herself to her feet and waves, disappears down the stairs, and leaves Molly and Caleb alone.  
There’s a quiet, for a minute or two, as they both play back the conversation and let it sink in. Molly continues to stroke gently up and down Caleb’s back. 

“Who’s the parental figure here?” Molly jokes, eventually, and Caleb chuckles as he turns his head, finally able to see Molly’s face.

He’s struck for a moment, with the multicoloured light shifting through his glass mosaic wall, how it spills across Molly and stains his skin beautiful colours.

“We say, a lot, that it is me. But I would not be human without Nott. She keeps me alive, she does her best, and it is not fair that she is so young and has to care for me. I just- I cannot seem to get my feet under me. She deserves a break, even just- just for a while.”

Molly stares.  
An idea occurs to him, a wild, an outrageous idea, unrealistic and crazy and there’s no way that he could ever suggest it. 

Could he?

Caleb pushes his cheek to Molly’s shoulder a little harder, draws his attention,

“Molly? Are you alright?”

“I was, thinking,” Molly says, slowly, “That- no. No, it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s okay, Molly.” Caleb drags his fingers up Molly’s side, “You can tell me. You don’t have to, but you can.”

Molly takes a breath,

“You can- it’s _stupid_ , it’s too much but- I could, whilst I’m in town- I could… move in?” 

“Move in?” Caleb echoes, shocked, thrown off- he wasn’t expecting that, for sure.

“I know, it’s ridiculous, you just said- Nott- break- I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I? I’m sorry, Caleb, I’m so sorry.”

Molly lifts a hand, presses the heel of it into his eye and begs himself not to cry.  
He feels a hand pressing under his own, shifting to lace their fingers together, pulling Molly’s hand until Caleb can kiss his knuckles. 

“I think,” Caleb says softly, “That would be a wonderful idea.”

Molly’s concern breaks, slowly, into a bright grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Caleb kisses his knuckles again, “I would- I would like that, I think, a lot.”

“Should I- uh- should I come back tonight?”

“Yes.” Caleb answers without a second of hesitation, “Come back, Molly.” He says, and his voice drops, low and soft and everything that runs phantom fingertips down Molly’s spine, “Come home.”

 

At work, Molly can’t wipe the smile off of his face.   
He can’t remember the last time that he was this energetic, shifting and throwing and ducking around his crystal ball in an acrobatic performance all of his own. He’s pocketed a record amount of cash before even his first tarot reading- he always needs an introduction for that one, someone he knows, and tonight he’s been too distracted to remember. 

He continues to be distracted when Jester comes up behind him and taps him square between the shoulderblades, making him freeze on the upswing, he watches the crystal ball arc through the air and his brain does something akin to short-circuiting. He watches it fall.

“Oop!” Jester ducks in and catches it an inch from the floor, tips of her fingers, and flings it back up in a wide arc.

Molly recovers in good enough time to catch the ball above his head, both hands, and tuck it away to a chorus of _aw_ ’s from his little crowd. He grins, brightly, to Jester, and she returns it, 

“What has you so excited, Molly?”

Molly shouldn’t tell her. He should keep his mouth shut, keep his secrets, at least whilst he’s working-

“Caleb.” He blurts, tucks the crystal ball away and goes for the tarot cards. Jester’s grin grows.

“What about him? _Oh_!” She leans in, “ _Did you fuck?_ ” 

“How about a tarot reading?” Molly answers, and she fake-frowns and tuts,

“Fine! Yes, fine, but I will get you later, you know!”

“I know you will.” Molly sighs, splays the cards in an s-shape and tilts his head to her, “Cards?”

“Fated or faked?” Jester hovers her fingers above the cards, traces the shape in the air, Molly gives her a grin.

“Your choice.”

“Fated!” Excitement in all, it’s not often she gets someone else to read for her. She taps three cards in quick succession, and Molly inches them out, collapses and pulls.

“Past,” Molly turns the top card, he knows Jester well, “The eight of swords.”

Jester claps, excited, clasps her hands and leans closer. Molly smiles at the thin ring of a crowd they’re already gathering,

“This card represents disturbance, a lack of concentration in your past that has led to indecision, poor endurance, and all around _droopiness_ ,” he gives Jester a wink and she muffles a cackle, “but this is in your past. Your present-” the second card is turned, “Your present, The Hierophant, holds wealth, _confidence_ , vision, all of the things in your past that have left you so unsure are gone now. Who you are, who you have _now_ is good for you. This is your happy time, the more that you seize it, make it yours, the stronger and more powerful you will feel and become.” 

Jester squeals quietly, muffles it behind her hands, her eyes wide and excited.

“And your future,” Molly hushes his voice and keeps her eyes locked on his as he turns the card, “holds the eight of pentacles. This card represents for you, a cautious time. Moving on, a new beginning, but that isn’t a _bad_ thing. The wealth and strength you have now is a high, it can’t last forever, but going back down isn’t a negative, it’s a strength in itself- all of the mistakes you have and will make will just…” Molly makes an exploding gesture with his fingers, smiles for Jester, “Disappear. It will be hard, it will take confidence and strength and support, but you _will_ be happy again.” 

Molly tucks the cards away, opens his arms preemptively for the hug that Jester throws herself into, she’s always been bright and excited to have her cards read. He hefts her up and twirls her, once, for drama, his shoulders scream with the stress of it but she’s on her feet and not his muscles within seconds, giggling and beaming and everything that Molly loves to see in her.

 

Jester does, as she has promised, get him later. She pins him to the side of Gustav’s trailer just past midnight, as he’s whistling his way to the steps.

“Caleb.” She says, eyes glittering with mischief, “Did you fuck?”

Molly sighs, but he can’t fight the smile from his face, he ducks languidly under her arm and moves to unlock the door instead. The lights are on inside, Gustav is probably in, awake.

“No.” He tells Jester, smile at the edge of his lips, “I don’t think that’s really Caleb’s thing. Coming in?”

“For this juicy info? _Absolutely_.” 

“Good. you can find out at the same time Gustav does.”

He opens the door, holds it open for Jester, lets her flood inside and into the main room- when he comes in, she’s sitting on the sofa next to Gustav, hands on her knees and near vibrating with excitement.  
It takes Molly a good five minutes to explain his way through moving in with Caleb, just whilst they’re in town, an extended sleepover if anything.   
Jester squeals.   
Gustav frowns. 

“Molly,” He says, low, and Molly bristles at the tone, “You know that when we leave, we leave this man behind?”

“I know.” Molly swallows down his own shaking breath at the thought, “I remember that.”

“I don’t want this to hurt you.”

“It already will.” Molly gives Gustav his best confident smile, “And if it’s already going to hurt me, I might as well enjoy it before it does.”

Gustav sits back, sighs,

“I suppose I can’t argue with that. We’ll need to get you your own car, I think, but that can wait ‘til the morning. You’re still on your normal shifts.”

“Jester can contact Caleb if you need me.” Molly adds on, smiles, and Gustav shakes his head to dispel his concern.

“Alright. See you tomorrow, Molly.”

Molly is gone before his name is fully out of Gustav’s mouth, into his room to collect clothes and, of course, his lavender perfume. He looks around his little room, smiles and finds himself welling up, his heart swells and aches and he sighs.

“I’m going home.” He says softly, to the bunches of lavender strung up between wardrobes. It sends a thrill through him, and he says it again, “I’m going home.”

  


Caleb is exhausted, leaning over the windowsill in the main room, Nott curled on the sofa behind him, asleep. It’s coming up to one in the morning, he’s got his head on his arms, staring at the empty, unchanging street and his hope dying in his heart.  
Of course, Molly wouldn’t come back.

Molly saw him today, out of control. He’d _hit_ Fjord- sure, he’s sent a text out to apologise now, Fjord assures him he understands and that his apology is accepted- but he’d done that. He’d tried to hurt someone, more people, why would Molly care at all about someone like Caleb?

The moonlight is bright enough to light the scenery in the absence of the streetlights, they haven’t worked for months and the council refuses to do anything.  
The only movement Caleb sees is the shift of silhouettes, teenagers in the park opposite his house, out drinking and being teenagers. It’s an experience that he never got to have, spending most of his later teenage years in recovery, but it doesn’t matter now. Not now that all he wants from tonight is _Mollymauk_ , a man who isn’t coming home.

 

It’s one-fifteen in the morning when Molly pulls up outside Caleb’s house, cursing the time and how long it’s taken and aching to see him again. He climbs out, locks up, and makes his way to the gate.

Can he, he thinks, burden Caleb like this?

And then shakes it loose. He’s wanted. He knows, he looks up and sees the blinds of the main room, jostled somehow but he’s too low down to see how.

He heads up the steps and sees, finally, Caleb leaning on his arms on the windowsill, like he’s fallen asleep where he sits, and that hurts Molly and endears him all at the same time. He leans, shuffles closer, and taps gently on the window.  
Caleb jerks awake almost immediately, rubs his eyes so that he can see- and when he spots Molly, he beams. It’s such a wonderful sight, Molly’s heart aches, Caleb scrambles up and Molly waits at the door to ear the scraping of the bolts and the lock and it’s open and Molly throws himself into Caleb’s waiting arms.   
Caleb laughs, quiet and gentle and right in Molly’s ear. 

“I thought, for a while, that you wouldn’t come back.”

“I came home.” Molly whispers back, and closes the door behind them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burrito Molly's premiere! And Feelings.  
> And yashregard!

Molly is so glad to take his binder off that night that he doesn’t bother to put his shirt back on. Just strips down to his underwear and wraps himself in a blanket like a burrito.  
Caleb, already halfway to crawling into bed, eyes him with some kind of affectionate exasperation.  
  
“Burrito Molly.” Molly says, as though that clarifies anything, “You get burrito Molly tonight.”  
  
Caleb eyes him once more and shakes his head, smiling,  
  
“I will take my Molly in any form. Burrito or otherwise.”  
  
The combination of dim light and dark skin makes Molly’s sudden blush invisible as he shuffles to the bed.  
  
“Say that again?” He asks, soft, unbelieving. Caleb tries his best in the darkness to meet his eyes.

“I will take my Molly in any form.” He repeats, “Burrito or otherwise.”

“Oh.”

 _My Molly_.   
Oh. 

Burrito Molly wiggles his way into bed, lets Caleb pull the quilt up over them both. They settle with Caleb’s face pressed to the loose, wild curls at the back of Molly’s head, Caleb’s chest pressed to Molly’s back so firmly that Molly can feel his heartbeat.

“Burrito Molly.” Caleb murmurs, “ _Ich liebe dich,_ Burrito Molly.” 

Molly smiles, closes his eyes and settles in. He doesn’t understand German, it’s not something he’s bumped into, but he understands intonation. He understands affection. He gives Caleb a soft sigh and presses backward in response, and falls asleep.

 

They wake to the sound of Nott pottering around on the floor below, toilet flushing and tap running and Burrito Molly is no more. The blanket has slid off over the course of the seven or so hours they’ve been asleep, and Molly finds himself this morning, pulled flush up to Caleb, an arm curled against his back, tucked under Caleb’s chin. He feels Caleb pull in the waking breath and pause to yawn before he kisses the top of Molly’s head.

“Good morning, Molly. Where did the burrito go?”

“Over the edge of the bed, I suppose.” Molly smiles, Caleb feels it against his collarbone. He retaliates by drawing a line right down Molly’s spine and _oh_ , that’s a _feeling_ with no layers of cloth to muffle the contact, Molly arches away and finds himself blocked by the physical wall of Caleb in front of him. 

Caleb chuckles.

And then, like the floodgates have opened, everything of the day before comes back and the fight- well, the attack on Fjord- that’s something Caleb has been through and regretted and torn himself up over but the words- they’d melted away in his rage.  
He remembers now. 

“Fuck.” Caleb whispers aloud in the present and Molly leans back and away,

“Caleb?”

“Beauregard is- is my soulmate. We have matching marks. Beau-”

“Oh.” Molly had forgotten that, too.

“You knew.” Caleb’s hands come away from Molly and well, it was a short run, Molly supposes. Everything has to end. Either Caleb would get sick of him, or he’d leave, and he thinks that he prefers it this way.

“I knew, yeah.” he gives honestly, and without Caleb’s hands on him, it’s easier to slip out of bed. He pulls the blanket up and around his shoulders whilst he withdraws his binder from his bag.

Gustav is going to need some serious explaining to.

“You did not tell me.” Caleb sounds hurt and Molly refuses to turn.

“Beau asked me not to.” Molly pulls his binder on carefully, avoiding Caleb seeing his chest- he hadn’t much of a problem, before, but it’s a trust he thinks. He can’t afford the luxury of that now.

“I didn’t- I cannot, I can’t be her soulmate. I know that you say it isn’t romantic, but if it is- and I have done such things, she deserves, far better than I can ever give her. She deserves Yasha. And I couldn’t, ever,” Molly rolls and tucks his blanket into his backpack as Caleb talks, closed off and cold and _numb_ , “I couldn’t love her. She is- I’m- I’m _gay_ , and Beauregard-” 

Molly sighs, heavy and weighted and it stops Caleb in his tracks. He looks over.

“Mollymauk?” from the bed, and Molly keeps his eyes on the floor, Caleb in his peripheral, he picks the backpack up and swings it on.

“Look, I’ll save you the trouble, yeah? I’ll leave, you don’t have to ask me to. I hope it all works out for you, Caleb.” He picks up the second bag, the sports bag, full of clothes and turns for the stairs with the sound of Caleb scrambling behind him,  
“It was- you were nice. I liked you.” Molly says, his throat constricting, “Thank you.” 

“Molly? Where are you going- Molly!” and Caleb’s hands are on his hips and holding him, “If you want to leave, you can say so, I won’t stop you but- but- but, Molly, I don’t-”  
  
Molly turns to catch sight of Caleb over his shoulder, 

“I don’t want you to leave.”

There’s tears glimmering at the rims of Caleb’s eyes.

“I want you to stay.”

Molly could have kissed him, there and then, it could have been everything- but he doesn’t.  
He’s leaving soon, whether they both want him here or not, the carnival will move on and Molly will move with it and he can’t afford to fall in love. 

To fall in love, the way he knows he already has.

“Please don’t leave.” Caleb says, tear-thickened, and Molly swings his bags off to turn around and tackle Caleb back to the bed, wordless. They cling like limpets to one another, tight and entwined and crying just a little bit, until Caleb sighs and unzips Molly’s binder.

“Don’t sleep with that.” He says, quietly, and Molly chuckles as he winds tighter,

“My darling Caleb, always looking out for me, hm?”

“ _Ja_.” Caleb breathes against Molly’s neck, “For you.”

  


Beau wakes up in her own bed with a head full of ache and a mouth full of regret.  
Beside her, she can hear Yasha’s peaceful breathing, steady and rhythmic and Beau _wants_ to say she doesn’t fall for the larger woman with every repeat of the cycle but she’d be lying if she did. Not that Beau is opposed to lying. She just doesn’t like to lie to herself, where possible- everyone else, _every_ other fucker in the world is fair game but there’s no point, she reasons, in lying to herself when she knows the truth. She can just… crush the truth down, smaller, smaller, until it either doesn’t exist, or it blows up in her face.   
And it’ll sure be interesting to find out which one this is.

 _So, Beauregard._ Beau’s brain huffs to her, and she frowns. She doesn’t like this one. _What have you done now?_

Slept with her soulmate’s best friend, she assumes, is the right answer. It seems to be, there’s no words in the response from whatever the fuck is going on up there, but there’s a thrum of satisfaction, a burst of dopamine that has even Beau herself feeling a little lighter. For a second.

After The Incident, as she’s deigned to term it, Fjord had taken Jester home- one phone number up, Cali is a sweetheart- and Nott had gone for the ride ad the conversation.  
Leaving Beau and Yasha alone in the streets of Bleakburn, nothing better to do than wander around and get blind drunk. She doesn’t even remember how she got home, just that she and Yasha were _sloshed_ , she has the vaguest memory of herself clinging to Yasha in the moonlight, keys in the door and hands shaking and giggling, so much giggling. 

She remembers the door clicking open and Yasha’s mismatched eyes looking down to her, a smile wider than Yasha could ever manage sober and the moonlight reflecting on the green-and-gold.

She remembers kissing Yasha.

Standing on her tiptoes and still needing Yasha to bend a little, nearly a foot of different between them and it had been messy. Too hard and a little sloppy and not quite on target but it had been a kiss and it had felt like magic. Pure, unchanging magic, and then _Yasha_ had dragged her in and locked the door and pinned her to a wall.   
Yasha had done that.   
Beau probably should have said _no_ but she’s never been one to deny herself the things she wants. Especially when they want _her_ even more. 

Still.

She needs to talk to Caleb.

She reaches out blindly, bleary, feels for her phone and squints at it over her face as she texts him.  
  
< _We should meet up. Probably talk about shit._

 _Ja, probably. > _ _  
_ _I can ask Mollymauk to drop me off in Blackwater for a while this morning, if you are free? > _

_ <Uh. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Maybe at Tesco’s restaurant? It’s decent. _

_Impersonal, but that is likely best. Does 11am work for you? > _

 

Beau checks the time. It’s half nine.  
Why the _fuck_ is she awake? It’s too early.

_ <Yeah, 11’s fine. See ya. _

She doesn’t get a text back. That’s okay. She likes it that way, she tells herself.  
She turns the phone off and sets it down and stares and the ceiling and wonders where it all went wrong.   
Whilst she’s moping, Yasha, still asleep, turns over. Beau can see her face, now, peaceful, almost angelic in slumber and she smiles the small, bitter, aching smile that she’s sworn nobody, _nobody_ else will ever see. 

Beau? Vulnerable? Psshaw.

And then Yasha blinks open, just a little bit, just a sleepy, unfocused smile and a soft coo and she tucks an arm around Beau and slips off again. 

This is fine. Beau’s had cuddly one-nighters before. This is fine.

Except that she doesn’t want this to be a one-nighter.  
Except that she wants Yasha. That she wants to learn her, to get to fall in love, to get to develop this weird little hint of a crush into something new and terrifying, and it might have already begun. She doesn’t know.   
But what she does know is that Yasha is in her bed, cuddling her closer, and Beau is a sucker for pretty girls- how can she say no? She snuggles up, tucks herself under Yasha’s chin, and tells herself her heart isn’t even beating as it’s throbbing against her ribcage when Yasha kisses the top of her head.

 

When she meets up with Caleb at eleven, her head still hurts (despite the painkillers) and her throat is still dry (despite the water) and she’s dressed, uncharacteristically, in clothes with sleeves. Specifically, her usual tank top, but with Yasha’s hoodie over the top. It’s big enough that it could be a dress, it’s the stereotype of a hangover outfit. Her makeup from the day before is smudged to shit, dark rings around her eyes and, hey. She matches the woman _still_ sleeping in her bed. 

Caleb is already there, sitting at a table with Molly’s arm around his shoulders. Beau almost doesn’t want to interrupt- despite Caleb being obviously nervous, he’s smiling, Molly presses his lips to Caleb’s temple and says something and Caleb shakes with a brief, quiet laugh.  
Then Molly looks up. Beau meets his mismatched eyes from across the room, blinks, and he waves as he turns back and mumbles something to Caleb. As Beau moves toward them, Molly stands, kisses Caleb’s hair again, and pulls away. 

“Good luck.” he smacks Beau’s shoulder as she passes, offhand, and she gives her false-smug confident smile.

“Thanks.”

Caleb looks up at her when she sits down. She notes, first, that Caleb’s left hand isn’t bandaged, the eryngium is bright and blue and visible alongside the curls of burn scars that Beau, tactfully, ignores. 

“So,” Caleb says, sighs, drops his eyes back to the table, “The- hm. Flowers.”

“Let’s not launch into it like barbarians.” Beau rubs her head, “I got a killer hangover and a bacon craving. Are they still doing breakfast?”

“Um,” Caleb looks over his shoulder, shrugs, “I’m not sure. May be worth a- a look, I would like, a coffee.”

“No food?” Beau frowns, Caleb shakes his head,

“I do not like to eat.”

They get up together, slow and shambling and make their way to the counter. There’s the leftovers of the breakfast lot, and Beau manages to persuade them to scrape together a full english, minus the black pudding. She makes a face as she requests a _fuck no_ for that, and it makes Caleb chuckle, a little bit, for all that he agrees with her. 

“You laughin’ at me, Caleb?” She asks, and he’d panic if it wasn’t for her bright grin. As bright as she can make it, considering her hangover. Caleb doesn’t need to reply; Beau is only teasing. She’s handed a tray of food, and takes it to the end, pays for her food and Caleb’s coffee, and they move together back to the table where the light, jovial mood dies down to awkwardly picking and sipping at their breakfast.

“So.” Beau says, poking a sausage, “Flowers.”

It disappears into her mouth in two bites, the time it takes Caleb to nod and agree,

“Flowers.”

“See,” Beau tries, “I didn’t want t’ tell ya, in case you’re one of those- uh-” She hides her error by jamming another sausage in her mouth, the pause gives her time to think and she remembers her manners, swallows, “Those folk that believe they’re romantic.”

“You think it would be a problem?”

“I do, yeah, see- I’ve seen the way y’look at Molly. I’ve seen th’ way y’ act.” Beau’s eyes lift to meet Caleb’s, ice blue and shocking.

“And?” Caleb’s mouth is dry. Beau doesn’t take her eyes from his, shrugs,

“Well, this isn’t gonna work, is it?” She flashes the forget-me-nots on her hand, “Y’know. A girl that likes girls, and a guy that… doesn’t.”

Ah. That. Of course Beau would have him pegged as that, he should have known, she’s staring straight through him, harsh, and then blinks.  
Looks at her food.   
Puts a bit of egg in her mouth. 

“Ah, yes.” Caleb manages, eventually. “There is that.”

They’re silent, after that. Beau eats, Caleb drinks, Molly walks around the store buying nothing but a three-pack of persimmons that he jams in a pocket and chews as he waits for his- boyfriend? Would that be a apt term? Is he in a relationship?

His Caleb. Good enough.

He catches sight of his Caleb, tipping his coffee cup back to drain it, setting it back down.

Beau looks up at him,

“Y’okay, Caleb? I mean- I know I ain’t… boys, but I still- uh- y’know?”

“No.” Caleb answers honestly. Beau sighs, as though this is paining her greatly,

“Caleb, I like y’. Not like, _oh we’re gonna go run off and have babies forever_ , but you’re a good friend.” 

“How can you tell?” Caleb quirks a smile, “You barely know me.”

Beau shrugs.

“Wouldn’t be my soulmate if you weren’t kickass.”

Caleb gives a soft, almost broken laugh, and Beau shifts herself, comes around the table and shoves him until he gives her space on his chair, she swings an arm around Caleb’s shoulders, awkwardly, and just holds there.

“Yeah, so. Uh. Yeah.”

“Don’t talk, Beauregard.” Caleb leans against her, “It is making everything so much worse.”

Beau snorts and punches him with the arm not around his shoulders, gentle, he still winces and muffles a yelp through his answering smile, and they both give soft sighs of relief. Silence falls, comfortable and gentle, and everything is okay again.  


 

When Caleb and Beau come away, they find Molly outside, sitting astride the bars in the trolley park and eating his way slowly through his last persimmon. He waves when he sees them, half the persimmon in his hand, a trail of juice down his chin that he licks away when he sees Caleb’s eyes shift to it.  
Molly leans forward across the bar, wobbling slightly but smiling all the same, flattens himself against it best he can. 

“How’d it go?” he asks Caleb specifically, and Beau huffs, rolls her eyes,

“I’m here too.” she protests, only half-serious, and Molly gives her a mischievous smirk, 

“I know, darling, but I’m asking _my_ Caleb- how did it go?” 

Caleb is too busy flushing at _my Caleb_ to formulate a response, and Molly chuckles as he slips off of the railing and comes to wrap one arm around Caleb’s shoulder, squeezes him, kisses his cheek. “Beau?” he tries, and Beau shrugs, 

“Well, I don’t see a _great love_ in our future but eh- I’m sure we can stretch to friends.” 

She gives Caleb a strange sort of grin and he responds with a smile and leans in to Molly, pulls an arm around his waist and stays, still. Molly sighs contentedly, and Beau rolls her eyes,

“Go, be gay, somewhere else. We sorted what were meant to, right, Caleb?”

“ _Ja_.” Caleb murmurs gently, and his eyes close, Molly feels him sway. 

“You’ve been awake two hours, my love.” Molly smiles as he turns to murmur into Caleb’s hair, “You’re this tired, now?”

“ _Ja_ , emotionally I just- I can’t-” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Do you want a lift home, Beau?”

“I live on the other side of town, it’s a ten minute walk, s’a’ight.”

“I’m going around the one-way anyway,” Molly shrugs, “Heading to the carnival. Gustav. This one,” he kisses Caleb’s hair, “Has a choice between the car and my room in the trailer for a nap.”

“Your room.” Caleb murmurs in answer, and Molly squeezes his shoulders again, takes a bite of the persimmon, and sighs as he throws the remaining quarter to a seagull, watching him nearby.

Beau shakes her head,

“Not s’posed to feed the seagulls.” She tells him, and Molly grins,

“It’s my friend!” The seagull makes soft noises, picks up the food, and swallows it whole. It’s a sight to behold.

“Whatever, fine, don’t cry t’ me if they fine ya for it. Offer of a lift still open?”

“Of course, can’t have Yasha getting too lonely without you.”

Beau’s eyes widen slightly.

“How’d you know-?”

“She sent Caleb a selfie of you two last night.” Molly smiles, “He showed me this morning, it’s very sweet.”

Beau buries her face in her hands and groans, long, loud, Molly chuckles at her.

“Come on, Beau Beauregard, your carriage awaits.” And turns, Caleb under his arm, Beau in tow, back to his car.

 

Yasha is sitting in the window when they get back to Beau’s house, head tilted back and from what they can see, it looks like she’s singing to herself. She stops, when she sees Beau out of the corner of her eye, climbing out of the car and shouting her thanks to Molly, Yasha turns and smiles a little.  
“Have fun!” Molly calls, the door slams, and Molly pulls away.

Caleb is asleep against the car door.

Molly pulls up outside his trailer and can’t fight the impulse to look over and sigh, gently, at how soft and vulnerable his heart feels.   
He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. But when he looks at Caleb now, he knows. 

Mollymauk Tealeaf has fallen in love.

Molly leans over, gently, shakes Caleb’s arm.

“Darling, come inside. You can sleep on my bed.”

Caleb hums as he sits and Molly takes the opportunity to climb out of the car and come around to Caleb’s door. He pulls that open as Caleb unbuckles himself and slides out, shaking and tired and caught only by Molly’s warm arms around him. 

“Oop. Come on, darling, it’s alright- up we go.”

And up they go indeed, Molly shifts to hold Caleb up with one arm and closes the door, shifts to the other side and locks the car on the way to the trailer. He guides Caleb up the stairs, one at a time, and in. Gustav shouts a greeting, Molly shouts a placation, and takes Caleb through into his room.  
The bundles of lavender greet him with the ever-present, light scent, and Caleb sleepily snuggles closer to him in response. Molly hears a content hum and his heart twinges and aches, he guides Caleb to his bed and settles him in. 

“Quilt?” Molly asks him gently, Caleb shakes his head.

“Coat?” Molly tries, and gets a nod for that. Molly sweeps his teller coat off, lays it over Caleb and smiles as Caleb does, cuddling the fabric of Molly’s coat ever closer.  
Molly kneels over him, leans and presses the lightest, gentlest kiss to Caleb’s temple, strokes a strand of hair back from his face. 

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” Molly whispers gently. 

As long as he says it in another language, as long as Caleb doesn’t understand, it’s okay. It’ll all be okay.  
When Molly turns, he finds Gustav in the doorway, staring with wide eyes and drawn mouth and, 

“Molly.” he says, voice low and dangerous.

Molly stands poker-straight, presses his finger to his lips, and shuffles Gustav out of his room, closes the door behind him, heads them both to the main too. Desmond is there, sitting on the sofa, sewing something. Another handmade embroidery patch, no doubt, Desmond’s downtime is full of the things.

“Molly,” Gustav says again, same tone, “You-”

“He doesn’t understand Gàidhlig.” Molly interrupts in a rush, “He doesn’t know.”

“What’s happening?” Desmond lifts his head to Gustav as Molly goes to sit on the other end of the sofa, head in his hands, clutching handfuls of his hair.

“Molly. I- Molly, tell him.”

“I fell for him.” Molly says quietly, “I didn’t mean to. I know I have to leave. I fell for him anyway.”

 

Molly doesn’t get a chewing out from Gustav like he expects.  
What he gets is infinitely worse- Gustav comes and sits beside him and pulls Molly into a hug.   
Gustav lets Molly break onto him, collapse and cry and wind around him like a frightened child, hushes and soothes and sings to him, gentle, it could be a lullaby. Molly isn’t sure, he doesn’t have the heritage to base it on, only what Gustav has taught him and the tone of his voice.   
He slowly, slowly begins to stop crying, calming down, deep breaths, Gustav rubs his back gently. 

“Ornna’s putting me on her insurance.” Gustav tells him softly, “You can take the car. It’s okay. But, Molly-”

“Don’t.” Molly croaks, “Don’t use that tone. Don’t.”

“If you leave, Molly,” Gustav says and Molly’s grip tightens, “If you leave, you’ll have to get your own car.”

“I don’t want to leave.” Molly feels tears burning again, “You’re my family. I don’t want to leave.”

“Then you have some hard choices ahead of you. But they don’t need to exist right now.” Gustav peels Molly away from him, holds him by the shoulders,

“If you spend your time together worrying about when you’ll leave, you’ll miss out. And you’ll regret it. Go and be with him now, Molly, you can’t do any more damage that you’ve already done.”

“He could fall in love with me, too.” Molly answers, already standing, “He could fall in love with me, and I would have to leave him and hurt him. He doesn’t deserve-”

“He _deserves-_ ” it’s Desmond that interrupts, “To be happy whilst you’re here. Go, or I’ll wake him up. Go on.” 

“Git.” Gustav smiles, makes a _shoo_ gesture, and Molly’s eyes fill again as he turns and heads to his room, slips in the door, takes his binder off, and slips down next to Caleb. 

The movement shakes the bed just enough to rouse him, Molly sees sky-blue eyes blink open and Caleb smiles for him, smiles at him, and frowns when he sees the tear-stained swollen cheeks of his Mollymauk, cuddling into the pillows beside him.

“You were crying.” Caleb says softly, reaches up, rubs a thumb across one of Molly’s cheek and deepens his concern when Molly presses into it, welling up once more.

“It’s okay.” Molly answers. “It’s alright.”

“Do you want to talk?” Caleb struggles like he’s going to sit and Molly shakes his head vehemently, prompting Caleb to settle back down.

“I just- I just want… you.” Molly’s whisper is tear-thickened and Caleb lets out a steady breath through his nose, shuffles over and wraps an arm around Molly, pulls him in, rests their foreheads together.

“I am yours.” Caleb says, smiles, bites the inside of his lip when Molly only cries harder, “I am yours, until I can’t be yours any longer.”

“That’s what scares me.” Molly whispers, voice rough with the effort to keep it steady. Caleb strokes patterns into his back. He can’t think of anything else to say, there’s no words to make this better, he wants, he thinks, to kiss Molly.  
Molly’s bottom lip is already swollen from the rigorous chewing, his face is puffy and his eyes are red-rimmed and he’s the most beautiful sight that Caleb has ever seen. The most perfect, wonderful thing, and Caleb aches and hurts and pulls him closer, tighter, he can’t kiss Molly properly but that doesn’t stop him kissing the top of his head when Molly tucks himself under Caleb’s chin. 

Caleb has never been a man for dealing with emotions, for expressing and talking and all of the things that would make this easier. He’s clueless, helpless, no idea where to go next or where to put his hands and he aches, hurts like that, as Molly tucks closer and slowly falls asleep, and Caleb stays awake wondering who made the mistake that gave Caleb the right to touch this _angel_ in his hands. He doesn’t deserve Molly, could work a thousand lifetimes and would never truly earn the right to a second of Molly’s time and yet here he is, pressed against Caleb’s chest, wound around his waist and legs twined with his own and he’s _Caleb’s_. For now, at least, he’s Caleb’s Mollymauk, not forever, but a split-second from.

Caleb can’t remember how he lived without Molly, before he came.

 

He doesn’t have any idea how he’ll live without him again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles, revelations, and Nott being an angry mother but like... in German.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German in this chapter corrected thankfully by [Stepf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stepf/pseuds/Stepf)!

“Mmmh- Molly.” Caleb hums, eyes closed, afternoon sunlight filling Molly’s little room in the trailer. He hears Molly giggle, gently, and feels fingers ghost up his sides again.  
Molly is laid on top of him near completely, the familiar, complete, grounding weight pressing Caleb into the soft layers of blankets on Molly’s bed. Molly pulls one hand from Caleb’s skin, warm and rough under Molly’s fingertips, and uses it to drag the soft collar of Caleb’s turtleneck down.

“ _Molly_.” Caleb huffs, half a laugh, “I’m _sleeping_.”

Molly’s smile doesn’t weaken, he leans closer, pulls harder, the hand still under Caleb’s shirt stills and presses into skin.  
Molly kisses, right at the base of Caleb’s throat, presses his lips and stays as still as he possibly can as Caleb’s eyes fly open, one of his hands comes to Molly’s hip, the other threads instinctively into his hair.

Molly smiles, lips still pressed to Caleb’s skin and enjoys the odd, half-croak, half-squeak that comes out.

“ _Sheiße._ ” Caleb hisses, Molly lifts himself away, shifts the hand at Caleb’s collar to tuck under his chin as he settles, smug expression on his face.

“It’s nearly two.” Molly lilts, “Nott’ll be out of college, soon.”

“You are from hell.” Caleb groans, tips his head back and scratches gently at Molly’s skull where his painted nails already are, “You are an angel from hell.”

Molly sighs as he presses back into the touch; trust Caleb to pick up on Molly’s great love for the cat treatment.  
And speaking of which,

“Are you _purring_?” Caleb’s voice cuts through the scritch reverie, Molly hadn’t even realised his eyes had fluttered closed until they pop open again and he stops, completely still.

“Uh- maybe?”

He was. Molly considers his cat-like traits his biggest flaw, he thinks, looking at Caleb’s wide eyes and slack jaw.  
It would be easy, Molly thinks, to kiss that expression from Caleb’s face, to draw back that exasperated groan, _oh_ it’s a sound Molly loves dearly.  
But he’s not allowed to do that, he reminds himself. Caleb isn’t his to kiss like that- their relationship, what there is of it, is based purely around their mutual starvation of affection.  
That’s it.  
That’s all it needs to be.

“That is… Molly- _Du bist_ _liebenswert_.” Caleb sighs, and the smile he gives Molly is so soft, Molly swears he feels himself turning gooey on the inside as he melts under Caleb’s warmth.

It’s easier, Caleb finds, to say the sweet things when Molly doesn’t understand them.

“ _Du bist wunderbar,_ ” he continues, there’s no need for the floodgates in place when Molly won’t understand, “ _Ich liebe dich. Engel, mein Engel. Ich verdiene dich nicht._ Mollymauk- Molly, _du bist mein. Du gehörst mir und ich liebe dich._ ”

Molly understands, of that, about two words. Maybe three. _Wunderbar_ , he’s pretty sure on, pretty sure he’s heard it casually thrown around. Wonderful, if he remembers rightly. Then there’s _Engel_ , that’s similar enough to the English that he can assume it means Angel.

And _mein_.

Now that- he’s caught it twice, and if it does, in fact, mean what it sounds like- well, why would Caleb be saying it? _Mine_ , but what?

Molly wishes vehemently that he understood German.

“I see you’re following the same path as me, hm?” he says instead, lifts a hand to trail his fingertips down Caleb’s cheek, “Using the language barrier to your benefit. Lucky you- I don’t know _nearly_ enough Gàidhlig to do what you’ve just done.”

Caleb flushes,

“It is easier, I think, for me, when you do not know what I am saying. But if it makes you nervous- I know it would if it were me- if it makes you nervous, I can stop.”  
Molly thinks for a moment, hums to fill the silence, trails up and down against Caleb’s cheek.

“No,” he decides, eventually, “I like it. It does make me nervous, not knowing what’s going on, but- ah- I trust you. I don’t think that you’re saying horrid things.”

“No.” Caleb answers, quickly, “No, I- the opposite, really, but-”

“It makes it easier when I don’t know.” Molly smiles, soft, “ _Tha gaol agam ort._ ”

“It does.” Caleb agrees and sighs, pulls with the hand still wound in Molly’s curls, until Molly himself slides up enough for Caleb to press his forehead to Molly’s. Molly hums, content, his eyes half-close at the intimacy.

“Say it again?” Caleb asks quietly.

Molly’s heart jumps into his throat, quickens itself, he takes a breath, deep through his nose.  
Caleb smells of ballpoint pen ink, paper, new and old books, and lavender. And _Molly_ .  
This does nothing to ease Molly’s fluttering heart.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” He says, quiet and soft and fills it with every drop of love he possibly can, like drawing it from his lips will ease the ache inside of him.

“Again?” From Caleb, and Molly feels as though he’s being stripped down, armor chunks peeled away, armor he hadn’t realised he had.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” He tells Caleb once more, slow, and Caleb blinks, his mouth making the shapes.

“Ha- goo-l-”

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” Molly repeats, no longer sure whether it’s the impulse of everything flooding through him, or for Caleb’s benefit.

“Ha goo-l a-kam or-sht.”

It’s clumsy, slow, too slow for Gàidhlig, but he’s said it all the same and Molly’s fire-flicker pulse speeds further, from the drumming to hummingbird,

“Ha gool akam orsht.” A little more confident this time. When did Molly’s heart shift from his chest to his head? His heartbeat fills him like helium, making him feel light.

“A little faster. Like it’s all one.” he instructs, Caleb nods, forehead still rested to Molly’s, tries again,

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.”

Molly’s heart stops in his chest. Or so it feels. He _also_ feels his eyes well up, the burning of tears and he tenses up against Caleb, whose eyes widen in shock.

“I- Molly, I’m sorry, I don’t even know what that _means_ \- did I insult you?”

“No.” Molly gasps, curses internally as the first tear rolls and splashes down immediately to Caleb’s cheek. Caleb shifts the hand from Molly’s hair, first to wipe the splash from his own cheek, then to thumb the tears from Molly’s.

“I just- part of me, I think, doesn’t want to hear that from you because- because-”

“My accent is terrible?” Caleb tries to lighten the mood but it fails, Molly shakes his head hard and cries harder and Caleb chews his lip and continues, lightly, to brush the tears away as they fall.

“Because I want you to mean it.” Molly chokes between sobs, “And because you can’t. And because I’m leaving. And because I never want to leave you-” Molly shifts, just a little to the side and lowers himself, presses his face to the crook of Caleb’s neck and sobs and lets Caleb dumbly wrap his arms around the poor, shaking Molly, hushing awkwardly, cluelessly, cuddling him tight.

“What does it mean, Molly?” Caleb asks, gently, and Molly just shakes his head minutely against Caleb’s neck. Caleb lets out a soft puff of breath, “I won’t press. You can tell me when you are ready.”

He has his suspicions, he thinks.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” he says, softly, and Molly clings ever tighter.

 

 

Beau’s head is spinning, and she knows it isn’t from the hangover. No, the reason that Beau’s head is spinning is that she’s on a _date_ .

With _Yasha_.

Partially, Beau is a little smug that she and Yasha have been on a date before Molly and Caleb.  
Mostly, Beau can’t believe that _she_ is on a _date_ with _Yasha_.

They’re at a little vegan-vegetarian café-restaurant, Beau still in Yasha’s hoodie, Yasha still in the clothes of the day before, slowly munching their way through a vegetarian pizza shared between them, glass cups full of hot chocolate and topped with cream, marshmallows, chocolate sauce. It’s lavish, too much so for Beau’s tastes but she sees Yasha sitting in front of her and can’t find the heart to feel sick over it.

Yasha takes small bites of her food, like she’s trying to savor it, chewing carefully and swallowing before taking her next one.  
One of her hands rests on the table, her attention is not on Beau, and Beau stares at Yasha’s fingers. Her skin is pale and stark against the dark marble finish of the table, her nails are painted a deep, deep blue, with white dots in what Beau suspects is constellations.

Tentatively- if that is a word that could ever be attributed to Beauregard- she reaches out and lays her hand over Yasha’s.

Yasha stops chewing and looks up, eyes wide in surprise and Beau flickers her sight between the green and brown of Yasha’s eyes, checking, searching to be sure this attention is wanted.  
Yasha, without even the slightest change in expression, twists and pulls and frees her hand, and for a split second, Beau feels everything in herself ache with loss.  
And then Yasha threads their fingers together, lets her expression drop into the usual small smile, and goes back to her pizza.

“Hey, uh.” Beau tries, her voice comes out high, thready, and she clears her throat as Yasha’s eyes come back to hers, “Uh, so. This is… a date?”

“I asked you on a date, so yes, I think so?” Yasha replies, tilts her head in genuine confusion. Well shit, that’s cute.

“No, just, I don’t really… do… dates, usually, so…”

“Oh.” Yasha’s eyes widen in shock as she take’s Beau’s words _exactly_ the wrong way, “You don’t like the- romantic?”

“No! I mean, I do, I just… don’t experience those kinds a feelin’s a lot, often, fuck.” Beau buries her face in her free hand, Yasha’s fingers squeeze between her own.

“Take your time.” Yasha soothes.

“Yasha, I like you.” Beau groans, internally, externally, at the clumsiness, “And I wanna do- this again? All of this?”

“I can do this again.” Yasha smiles, and the way that it softens her eyes has Beau’s heart doing some serious acrobatic shit.

“Good.” She says, because nothing feels right except that, “Good.”

 

 

“You’re embarrassing.” Nott says, her tone jesting as she climbs into the back seat of Molly’s car to find Caleb leaning across with his head on Molly’s shoulder. Molly chuckles, it bounces through Caleb, too, and catches her eye in the mirror. She sticks her tongue out at him.

“ _Unfortunately_ ,” Molly teases, “Your ‘uncle’ is just too warm and comfortable, I’m afraid we can’t stop.”

“Gross.” Nott gently shoves the back of Caleb’s head, makes him slip off of Molly’s shoulder and grumble, displeased.

“It’s okay, darling,” Molly turns and leans over to kiss Caleb’s cheek as he sits up, “We can get back to it when we get home.”

 

 

When they pull up and climb out, Nott tugs at the back of Molly’s shirt, until he pays attention to her.

“Nott.” he tilts his head in acknowledgement, Nott grins,

“Come and make hot chocolate with me? Caleb said you didn’t get to drink it _hot_ last time.”

Molly rolls his eyes, smiles, and agrees, finds himself in the kitchen with Nott. Doing it properly, boiling the milk, adding the sugar and cocoa powder and even turning out the whipped cream and marshmallows.

 

Caleb is curled on the end of the sofa when they bring the mugs in, piled high with cream and marshmallows, and one, no cream, only a few marshmallows, that Molly hands to Caleb.

“Nott mentioned you’re not a big fan of cream.” it comes out as a murmur, Molly brushes around and pulls himself up next to Caleb, snuggles against him and wriggles until the positioning is comfortable.

“ _Ja_ , it is too rich for, for my tastes, and I cannot stand the texture.”

“That’s fair.” Molly agrees, and gives his own mountain of cream a hearty lick, chuckles at himself as he spots it on the tip of his nose.

Caleb sighs at him, a gentle smile at his lips, and Molly grins at him brightly.

“You are wonderful, Molly.” Caleb tells him affectionately, ignores the face Nott pulls as she drags her laptop out from under armchair, very deliberately and obviously staring at the startup screen instead of Molly and Caleb. “ _Ich liebe dich._ ”

Nott’s head shoots up at that. Her eyes wide, mouth hanging open just a little, and Caleb realises his mistake.

Molly might not understand German, but Nott certainly does.

Molly doesn’t seem to notice Caleb’s sudden shock, too focused on trying to lick the cream off the tip of his own nose in between taking further licks from his mug. The mountain of cream goes down slowly, and Nott’s expression of shock fades to _we’ll talk about this later_ , giving Caleb the space to sip his drink and loop an arm around Molly.

That’s going to be a conversation and a half, for sure. He’s not looking forward to it.

And it will come too soon, Caleb knows, as Molly nudges at the curve of his jaw with the cold tip of his nose, now licked free of cream.

“I need to go.”

Caleb sighs in almost disappointment, turns to butt his forehead to Molly’s, gentle.

“You will be back around the same time, _ja_ ?”

“About one, darling, yes. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Caleb smiles, and in a shock of bravery, he kisses the tip of Molly’s nose. Molly may have licked the cream clean, but the taste still lingers, and in such a small dose, Caleb finds it pleasant. “I will be awake, either way. I sleep far better with you.”

“ _Gross._ ” Nott whispers from her chair, and Molly smiles, rolls his eyes,

“That’s sweet, _m’eudail_. I sleep better with you, too.”

Molly groans as he stands, draws himself away from Caleb.

“I’ll see you later. _Tha gaol agam ort_.” the last with a smile, and Caleb returns it.

“Later.” he echoes, and listens to the sound of Molly pulling on his shoes and coat, the sound of the door closing behind him, the sound of the car pulling away.

Nott looks up at Caleb.

“You told him that you love him.” she says, tone accusatory, and Caleb flushes immediately under the force of her gaze. “He doesn’t understand German, does he?”

“ _Nein_ ,” Caleb admits, the German deliberate for the reply, “Just like I do not understand the language that he speaks.”

“And you’re… okay with that? You don’t _want_ him to know?”

“No.” Caleb’s reply is firm and immediate, “Mollymauk does not need my feelings to muddy things for him. He is not here for long, when he leaves, it will all go back to business as usual. I do not want to risk what we have for such a short time.”

“It’ll go back to normal?” Nott questions in a tone that makes Caleb bristle with concern, “Are you sure? If you love him, will you be able to let him go without telling him? Will you be able to let him go at all?”

Caleb pushes his face into his hands,  
“I have to.” He says softly, “I know I have to.”

Nott comes to sit alongside him, rubs his shoulder comfortingly, and says nothing more.

 

Molly comes home exhausted and smiling and excited for Caleb. And Caleb, dutifully, is sitting at the window, face lighting up when he sees Molly running up the steps toward the door.

They meet in the hallway, a hard, all-consuming hug by the newly-locked front door. Molly is still wearing his teller coat, and Caleb’s hands slip inside to press at Molly’s back, giving Caleb the chance to appreciate the silky feel of the material against the backs of his hands.

“This is a sweet greeting.” Molly murmurs against Caleb’s shoulder, and Caleb squeezes him a little tighter,

“I have missed you, _Liebling_.”

“I’d carry you up the stairs, but I think your stairwell is a little too narrow.” Molly draws back enough to see Caleb’s face.

It would be nice, Molly thinks, if his brain could think of anything but kissing him. But in the low light from the living room and outside, Molly can look at nothing other than Caleb’s lips.

“I am _very_ tired, and I have work in the morning.” Caleb tells him, squeezes around Molly’s waist, “Could you come to bed?”  
“Of course, my darling.” Molly smiles and closes the distance to kiss Caleb’s cheek, and there’s a second, where Caleb sighs and presses into it.

Molly tries not to think of the way that Caleb’s lips would feel pressed to his own, the way that his tongue would slide against Molly’s.

He tries not to think of it. And fails.

“Bed.” Molly murmurs and draws away, catching Caleb’s hand as he does, and leading him up the stairs.

They stop at the top of the wooden staircase whilst Caleb puts the hatch down, and as he straightens up, Molly ducks and scoops him straight from the floor, bridal style.  
“Molly!” Caleb chokes with laughter, quiet for the time of night, and Molly’s grin spreads further across his face.

“Couldn’t carry you up the stairs, but at least I can carry you to bed, my love.” Molly declares, and makes his way determinedly over to lower Caleb to the quilt with all the tenderness in the world; Caleb giggles the entire way, a short series of breaths that stutter and come out high.

“My love?” Caleb questions, when he splays out on the bed and watches for Molly removing his binder. Molly turns away to hide the expression of sudden shock, realising his mistake, and carefully begins to slip out of his binder under his shirt.

It takes him a few seconds to come up with an excuse, and he fills the time with soft grunts, like he’s having trouble with the elastic.  
“Yes?”

It’s perfect, flawless, he can pretend that he was the one being addressed. It’s fine.

Caleb pauses as this processes, and then,

“Come to bed. My love.”

Oh, of all the things that Molly was expecting, Caleb playing into it wasn’t something he’d expected.

“Of course, my darling.” is what he manages in response, he turns and strips off his jeans. Caleb is already nestled under the quilt, his eyes widen fractionally at the moonlit skin and he lifts Molly’s corner of the covers so that he can scoot in and sidle up.

They twine together, Molly kisses at the angle of Caleb’s jaw sleepily, and feels a hand run down the outside of his thigh in return, scooting back up to run calloused fingertips over each scar and stretch mark at the top.

“ _Engel_.” He hears Caleb murmur, and smiles as he kisses again, makes sure Caleb feels it.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” Molly answers, lips pressed to Caleb’s skin, and they repeat the cycle, slower and quieter, until they finally slip off to sleep.

 

Molly wakes up to Caleb shuffling around his room, quiet as possible, and turns onto his side to smile and watch. It takes Caleb a few minutes to notice him, busy rooting around for a clean shirt and shivering in the cool morning air- it’s a lesson that Molly will have to teach him, keeping your pyjamas on until you’re ready to change.  
Caleb turns, shirt in his hands and still topless, and freezes as he catches Molly’s sleepy, affectionate smile.

“Ah.” Caleb says, and his voice isn’t the tone of affectionate surprise. He’s frowning a little, avoiding Molly’s eyes, “You are awake.”

“Yes- is everything okay?” Molly finds himself mirroring the frown and stands out of bed, takes a step toward Caleb and stops when Caleb flinches.

“I did not want you to- to see…”

Oh. The scars. Molly had near forgotten that he had them, his mind blanking them out, but now he sees that they stretch up his left arm and a good part of his chest and shoulder. Molly smooths the frown out of his face and steps a little closer,

“I think you’re beautiful, clothes or none.” He tries, and by Caleb’s wince, it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Please, Molly, do not lie to try and soften my feelings. It makes it worse.”

“Whilst I promise you I was not lying- I do think that- is it easier just to tell you it changes nothing?”

He’s an arm’s length away, now, and Caleb’s shoulders drop and relax, he sighs and nods,

“It is… still not believable, but it is better.”

“Can I touch you?” Molly asks, gentle, and Caleb nods. His shirt is still clutched loosely in his hand, and Molly steps in and pushes it out of the way to wrap himself around Caleb, fingers gentle over the scars, and he takes a short moment of opportunity to press a soft, gentle kiss to his scarred shoulder before they settle together, Caleb’s back pressed up to the wall.

“I need to go to work.” Caleb says, and when Molly draws away, he’s smiling again. “You can go back to sleep, _schatz,_ I will be home a couple of hours before you leave.”

He pulls his shirt on with that smile, has trouble with the buttons, and sighs his relenting when Molly bats his hands away and does them up himself.

“Good. I miss you when you’re gone.” Molly smirks, but his tone betrays his honesty. Caleb catches his chin as he stands and leans in, quick, to kiss his cheek.

“I miss you, too. Go back to sleep, time will pass far quicker, and I will see you soon.”

Molly yawns. Can’t argue with that when he’s so tired.

He returns the cheek kiss and shuffles back to Caleb’s bed, waving as he watches Caleb disappear down the little staircase through the hatch.

Molly turns over in bed and pulls one of Caleb’s pillows to him, cuddles himself around it. If he feels Caleb’s absence like this now, what will it be like in a couple of weeks? And if this is how much it aches when he goes to work, how bad will it be when they’re separated forever?

Despite the uncertainty, the smell of ink and books is strong in Caleb’s room, and sleep comes to Molly with relative ease.

 

When Caleb comes home to Molly, he finds him on the sofa, nattering away to Nott and sharing good-natured insults with her.  
In fact, when he comes into the room, Nott is busy cleaning up her lap from where she’d snorted so hard that she’d shot tea out of her nose.

“Caleb!” Molly greets jovially, sitting up. Caleb notes that he’s wearing his binder, again, of course. He doesn’t have that level of comfort with Nott.

Caleb dumps his bag behind the door, turns to Molly, and collapses into his arms over the side of the sofa.

“ _How_ ,” he groans with a hint of venom, “Can libraries be _that_ annoying and exhausting?”

“Oh, darling.” Molly smiles and lays back on the sofa, lets Caleb crawl to lie on top of him and carefully undoes the zip of his binder. Caleb is hiding his chest, it feels safe, it’s okay.

“ _How_?” Caleb near whines, and Molly chuckles as he wraps his arms around him. He leans in briefly to talk low,

“Before we get up, you will need to zip my binder back up.”

“Of course.” Caleb replies, equally low, and Molly leans back.

“Tell me about this day of yours?”

Caleb launches into a quick, angry explanation, and from what Molly understands of it, it centres around one person who _straight up refused_ to pay the fine for their book being… three? Months late? It seems that Caleb has dissolved into German, rambling and groaning and hissing from time to time and Molly lets him talk himself dry.

It’s the most he’s ever heard Caleb talk, and if Molly had any doubt before that he’s fallen in love with him, he has none now.

Caleb comes into silence, and Molly draws patterns gently at the small of his back. Nott leans over the edge of her chair to pat her fingertips to Caleb’s head.

“I am sorry that I talked too much.” Caleb’s voice is small, now, from his place with his head on Molly’s shoulder.

“Hey, no,” Molly soothes, stretches and twists to kiss Caleb’s hair, pressing gently at his back as he does, “It’s fine. I love your voice, Caleb, I like it when you talk.”

Caleb is quiet for a moment. Molly feels his face heat up and forces down a chuckle that such a comment could fluster him.

“I like your voice too.” He answers eventually, and Molly kisses his hair again.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?”

“Eugh.” Nott comments, closing her laptop and standing up, “I’m going upstairs, I don’t want to hear this!”

It’s overdramatic, not sincere, Caleb understands the tone and the smile. She meets his eyes, briefly.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Caleb. _Sag ihm, dass du ihn liebst._ ”  
_Tell him that you love him._

Caleb’s eyes widen and Molly gives a faux-exasperated sigh.

“ _Nein, ich kann nicht. Es würde alles zerstören._ ”  
_No, I can’t. It would destroy everything_ .

Nott frowns, shifts her laptop from one arm to the other.

“ _Weißt du, was es bedeutet? Das, was er dir sagt?_ ”  
_Do you know what that means? That thing he tells you?_ _  
_

Caleb frowns. He knows that she’s referring to the Gàidhlig.

“ _Nein_.” he admits. Nott rolls her eyes.

“ _Finde es heraus._ ”  
_Find out._

With that firm final statement, she strides out, and Caleb groans as he turns his head to bury it in Molly’s neck.

“I understood about _one_ word of that, and it was _no_ . I assume she’s chewing you out over something or other, my darling?” Molly’s voice is light and airy.  
Caleb groans again in response. Molly shifts to wrap his arms around Caleb’s waist properly and cuddles.

“She is- not angry, but frustrated, I think- with me, for- for avoiding making a decision on something that could be very very bad.”

“ _Could_ ?” Molly hums, “What else could it be?”

Caleb pauses for a long moment, and Molly thinks he might have overstepped a boundary for a moment, until Caleb pulls up and kisses his cheek with such tenderness that it leaves an echoing ache in his chest when Caleb pulls away.

“It could be wonderful, for a while. And then it will be bad. There is no escape for it.”

Molly sighs softly,  
“Yeah, I have a situation like that.” He tells Caleb, tries to keep the sad out of his voice, “I just aim to enjoy what I can of it, whilst I can.”

“That… is much the same as my own idea.” Caleb smiles, shakes his head minutely against Molly’s shoulder, “It is ridiculous, being human and obeying the laws of time. I would like to stay here forever.”

“Here?” Molly laughs a little, “On your sofa, on top of me, like _this_ , really?”  
Caleb lifts his head to meet Molly’s eyes. There’s absolute sincerity in his expression as he replies,

“Yes. Here. Forever.”

And flops back down.

It’s Molly’s turn to blush, now, he can come up with no good response. He just winds his arms around Caleb and blinks dumbly at the ceiling.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort._ ” he says eventually, softly, and Caleb turns to kiss his neck and smile so he can feel it.

“ _Ich liebe dich_.”

Not for the first time, Molly aggressively wishes he understood German.

“ _Mein Schatz._ ” Caleb murmurs distantly, “ _Mein Liebling_.”

“You can’t keep torturing me with that, _m’eudail_.” Molly laughs lightly, “Will you tell me what one of those means, at least?”

“If you tell me the meaning of… that one, that you have just said.”

“ _M’eudail?_ ”

“ _Ja,_ that one. I will tell you, if you tell me.”

“It just means _my darling_.” Molly smiles, kisses Caleb’s hair and misses the way he shifts minutely with disappointment.

“As does _mein Liebling_.” Caleb’s disappointment can’t battle off the smile, “ _Mein Schatz_ means _my treasure,_ and _mein Liebling_ means _my darling_.”

“ _Mein_ , hm?”

“It is… more intimate.” Caleb admits, and Molly can’t stop himself smiling. “It shows more care.”

“Ah, and I deserve that?”

Molly tries to keep the tone light, but it’s painfully obvious that he doubts that he does. Caleb lifts his head again, inches forward and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, achingly close, not close enough.  
Molly’s heart stops in his chest. He swears.

“If there is anyone undeserving, it is me. I do not deserve you.”  Caleb smiles, but it's the warm smile that Molly loves, not the bitter smile of self-hatred.

 

Oh. Molly could certainly get used to that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go on their first date, and come painfully close to more.

Their first date comes on Thursday.

The first day that they can dedicate wholly to one another, and Molly takes Caleb to a sweet little Café in Blackwater with the name _Haeven_. The inside is a simple, beautiful decoration of warm browns and yellows, old lights like torches fastened to the wall and little booths with vases of flowers.  
Caleb holds Molly’s hand across the table as they read through the menu. Which is to say that Molly reads the menu, frowning with the effort of it, and Caleb reads it upside down.

“I will have the hot chocolate.” he murmurs, “and probably a baked potato. With salad.”

He looks up from the menu, Molly mimics him when he sees his head lift.

“My rabbit food.” Caleb smiles at Molly, and Molly brings his free hand to his mouth to muffle the snort of laughter he gives.

Caleb stares at him, completely enraptured, and strokes a strand of hair of Molly’s hair back behind his ear as it falls away.

“ _Du bist_ _ein Engel. Mein Engel._ ”

“Your angel.” Molly murmurs distractedly, still trying determinedly to read the menu. Caleb stares in shocked silence, the tips of his ears flushing.

“You- ah- you-”

Molly looks up, shock on his face,

“Oh. Yes, it’s- I mean, it’s similar enough to English. I’m sorry?”

“No.” Caleb shakes his head, “ _Nein_ , I am- I am glad you understand that. I fear, sometimes, that you may doubt these things about yourself.”

Molly gives a soft, somewhat broken laugh.

“It’s very easy to doubt things that aren’t true.”

“I think that they are.” it comes out in a rush, Caleb’s eyes widen at his own boldness. When Molly cocks his head in hurt confusion, Caleb continues, “Well- you may not believe them about yourself, true, but- but you know that I will not lie to you?”

“I do.”

“I think these things about you.” Caleb tells him firmly, “I think that you are an angel. And that you are very beautiful, and kind, and I- _ich liebe dich_.”   
He’s still not ready to admit in English. Molly can feel his face growing warmer with every passing second.

“I can say the same for you, you know.” Molly’s voice is quiet and rough with his flush, “I don’t- I don’t know what happened, or when you became so important to me but Caleb- you are. You are- you’re handsome, and funny, and kind, and understanding. I haven’t had this kind of attachment to- to anyone, not even to Ornna. It’s going to be hell to leave you, I don’t know how I’ll cope.”

Caleb’s fingers clench around Molly’s.

“Neither do I.” he admits, and for a few moments, there’s silence. Contemplative and painful, and then the waitress comes to take their orders and it all dissipates into the air.

They take their time with the food and the drinks, quiet conversation about Beau and Yasha, about Jester and Cali- who, Molly informs Caleb, have already met up again this week.

“Turns out,” Molly smiles over the rim of his cup, “That Cali and Jester are soulmates.”

Caleb gives a grin so sudden and odd that it could crack his face.

“So something good has come of my ridiculous fight with Fjord?”

Molly laughs lightly. Only Caleb remembers the fight at this point, it’s been such a long week.

“Yes, darling, it has. They’re going on a _not-date_ tomorrow to test the waters for a _real_ date.”

“That is wonderful.” Caleb sighs, and takes a swig of his hot chocolate, “I am glad that I could help with something _good_ , for once.”

“You help me.” Molly points out, _helpfully_. “I had a _lot_ of trouble sleeping before you.”

Caleb is quiet as he considers this, covers the silence with a drink of his hot chocolate.

“I am glad I could be that for you.”

“You’re more than just a sleep aid, Caleb.” Molly says seriously, “I- You’re- a friend.”

“That is not what you were going to say.” Caleb raises his eyebrows, and Molly drops his gaze to his cup, like whatever he finds there will solve this situation.

“No.” He agrees. “It wasn’t.”

 

 

After the Café, Caleb and Molly end up, quite accidentally, walking along the long golden beaches of Blackwater. It’s mid-afternoon, around four, the sun is warm and strong and the beach has a scattering of children, teenagers, and the occasional dog that Caleb huddles closer to Molly around.

“Are you afraid of dogs, darling?” Molly asks when Caleb switches sides for the third time and Molly loops his arm around his shoulders, squeezes reassuringly. Caleb nods,

“Ah- _ja_ , I am not a dog person. They are cute, I enjoy watching- videos, of them, photos, but in physical terms… they have teeth.”

Molly smiles and turns to kiss the top of his head.

“More of a cat person, then?” he asks to cover the fact that he’s steering them away from the dog. Caleb’s face lights up,

“Oh- _ja_! I love cats, they are so wonderful- I find them far easier to understand than dogs, perhaps because I had a cat as a child. I especially like the way that they purr. I have heard you do as much.”

Molly feels his face heat up at that. Of course Caleb would remember.

Caleb turns to catch his eye, smiling,

“It is sweet.” he assures Molly, “I like it.”

Molly pauses to pull Caleb into a cuddle, ducks so that he can tuck his head under Caleb’s chin, and waits for them both to settle before he starts to purr.   
It’s not something he’s done purposefully before and it takes a moment to find the rhythm, but as soon as it clicks, he feels Caleb lose tension around him and smiles to himself in pride.

He mentally notes to himself to buy a cuddly cat toy for Caleb, at some point- he’s sure it will be a much appreciated gift.

 

They stay on the beach for hours, until the tide begins to turn at ten in the evening, hand tucked in his as they hug the side of the pier. The tide marks are high and dark, a foot above their heads and Caleb tugs Molly close to the stone to reach up and run his fingers across the ridge the water has worn, seaweed and algae painting a green line of hair-like fronds on the wall, his nails- painted a somewhat shimmery gold-brown- glow in the evening light. Molly watches him with a smile, takes in each detail that he possibly can- from the sunlight on Caleb’s ginger hair, to the expression of awe and focus on his face, his blue eyes almost distant and a smile just hinting at the corners of his mouth.

Molly’s heart aches with the weight of his love for him.

That something as simple as this, as Caleb pressing his fingertips to the salt-damp wall stretching above them, that this sight could invoke such a reaction in him- well.

Molly knows he’s truly fucked.

Caleb is so invested in the wall that he doesn’t notice Molly’s expression, and by the time he turns back, Molly has managed to stop being such a sap. Instead, he’s staring out over the horizon, watching the way that the sunset turns the water into a sea of fire and smiling, giving a soft, content sigh.  
Caleb turns over his shoulder to find Molly lit up by the red-orange of evening, casting colour from his skin and turning it to the hues of flame instead, catching his hair in a pink-violet light that makes him look somehow more ethereal than he already does.

“ _Mein Engel,_ ” Caleb says softly, comes to tuck his fingers back into Molly’s hand, “You enjoy the sunset?”

“It’s always so nice by the sea.” Molly’s smile softens his tone, “It changes the water completely. It always feels so warm.”

Caleb follows his eyes out to the ocean, and even growing up here, he has to admit to himself the truth of Molly’s words.

“Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” Molly breathes, eyes reflecting the sunset light. Caleb looks from the horizon to Molly’s face, lit still by the sun and turned to rose gold in the evening.

“Yes,” he answers, without really meaning to talk, “I have seen something even more beautiful. I have seen an angel.”

Molly is stuck halfway between his heart exploding with the force of the affection rush, and giving a soft snort of laughter. He does the latter to cover the deafening sound of the former.

“That’s _gay_ , Caleb.”

“ _Ja_ , well,” Caleb tries to stay casual, “It is hard not to be when you look the way that you do.”

Molly’s smile only grows across his face.

He can feel his heart in his throat, they’re treading the thin line just before _too far_ , just before _no going back_ and if Molly was a braver man, he’d step over it.

If he were a braver man.

Instead of answering, instead of pushing past the line, he just pulls Caleb closer and, keeping hold of his hand, turns them to one another so that he can pull Caleb to his chest and cuddle.

“ _Mein Engel_.” Caleb murmurs, sets his head to Molly’s shoulder and turns his face to watch the sunset. Molly kisses the top of his head almost sleepily before he answers,

“ _M’eudail_.”

 

 

Nott is watching soaps on the TV when they get back, wishing deeply that they each had the bravery to kiss one another and yet keeping it crushed inside.  
She pauses the program as they come in, turns to the door, frowning, and doesn’t stop even when she sees them hand-in-hand.

“You’re not laughing.” she says, tone accusatory, “Usually, when you’re together, you’re giggling. What’s wrong?”

Caleb smiles at her as he pulls Molly over to the armchair; Nott is taking up the sofa with her laptop and blanket pile.

“Nothing is wrong.” He assures as he sits, tugs Molly onto his lap, “It has just been a long, tiring day.”

“Are you sure?” Nott asks, full of concern, “ _Hast du es ihm gesagt?_ ”   
_Have you told him?_

“ _Nein_.” Caleb replies firmly, “I am sure. It’s just been a long, wonderful day.” 

“Wonderful?” Molly echoes, arms around Caleb’s neck, and Caleb smiles for him.

“Wonderful.” He affirms, gently kisses Molly’s cheek. “But I am tired. I’m going to bed, Molly, will you be joining me?”

Molly looks from Caleb to Nott, briefly.

“I’ll be up in just a minute, _m’eudail_. I’d like to pick Nott’s brain on a private matter whilst I have the chance.”

“Suspicious.” Caleb says without a hint of worry to his tone, he kisses Molly’s cheek once more before shoving him off. Molly sprawls to the floor in a mess of limbs and laughter and watches Caleb slip out with an affectionate eyeroll.

And then he’s left to Nott.

“You wanted to… pick my brain?” she asks, eyes glowing in the reflected light of the laptop. Molly climbs back up to the armchair.

“I want to ask you a question.”

“If it’s about what Caleb says in German, I won’t tell you.” she says quickly, “That’s my boy’s business.”

“It’s- it isn’t. That’s his to give, if he’s ever ready.” Molly takes a steadying breath, “I wanted to- to get him a gift. So that he doesn’t forget me, when I’m gone. And I wanted to ask you, as prime _Caleb_ know-er… is that selfish? Is it cruel?”

There’s quiet for a moment, where the only sound is Nott typing quickly on her laptop. From what Molly can see of her face, she’s in deep thought, frowning, chewing the corner of her lip. Eventually, she looks up at him.

“He’ll never forget you. Whether you get him something or not. He can’t forget you.”

Molly winces at that. He doesn’t want that. It’s exactly what he wants. It’s all very confusing.

“But is it cruel? Should I do it, or would it hurt him?”

Nott is silent for another second or two, staring at him with deep scrutiny.

“He likes to keep reminders of the things that he’s done.” She says, slowly, “You might not always see them. Sometimes they’re good. Very rarely does he look for reminders of the good things. If you can remind him of something good, then that isn’t cruel, and even if it hurts, it’s better for him. You should do it.”

Molly looks at her intently for almost thirty seconds, just silent eye contact and processing and eventually, he nods.

“Then I’ll do that. I already have an idea.” he stands up, drops his shoulders and sighs, “Thank you, Nott- oh- how are you with physical contact? What’re your boundaries?”

Nott shrugs.

“Try it, and if I don’t like it, I’ll tell you. And take off your hand if you try it again.”

“That’s fair.” Molly scoots closer and leans over, careful, kisses the top of her head through the tight curls of her hair. It’s an odd sensation, and Nott makes an almost pleased humming sound in the back of her throat.

“That’s fine. I like that. Just not- not in public? If people think you care about me, they’ll use it to hurt you.”

Molly looks at her, horrified, and she doesn’t even seem to flinch. Just waits for his answer.

“I- yes, not in public, of course but - Nott. Are you okay?”

She shrugs, “You learn things in life, Molly. It’s alright, go to bed, Caleb will want you.”

He nods and heads for the door, pausing a step from the hallway,

“I’m here if you ever need to talk to anyone, Nott.” he tells her seriously, and she tilts her head back to smile sadly at him.

“Appreciated. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Molly replies, concern not leaving his voice, but he files his way upstairs anyway.

  


The first thing he does when he steps into Caleb’s room is _strip_.

Caleb sighs in faux exasperation as he spots the silhouette of Molly shaking his way out of his clothes. The shirt and binder first, as they always are, and the pants next. He keeps himself to the corner of the room, where the moonlight can trace only the outline of his side, lighting the curve of his shoulder and the smooth line of his hip and that’s about where Caleb looks away. Covers his eyes with a hand and swallows thickly.

Molly groans as he stretches, pads for his bag and pauses,

“Caleb?”

“Hm?”

“Just- uh- I know it’s weird so please say no if you’re not comfortable but… do you mind me being… naked? I don’t really wanna put the effort into clothes.”

Caleb chuckles and peeks between his fingers. Molly’s face is lit by the moonlight now, and it seeps between the curls of his hair to turn the lavender to pale blue.

“You are not uncomfortable with the nudity?” he asks, and Molly shakes his head,

“Aside from already being pretty body confident, I trust you.” and a shrug, “If you don’t mind, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I do not mind.” Caleb tells him, “Though I would prefer burrito Molly, at least for now.”

Molly nods, a grin on his face as he picks his blanket up from the floor,

“That, I can do.” and wraps himself up tight, shuffles to the bed and wiggles into place under the covers Caleb holds up for him.

He feels Caleb scoop him up and in toward him, can feel Caleb’s chest rise and fall against his back, the rhythm of his breath at the back of Molly’s head, the arm around his waist firm and heavy.

“This is nice. I like this.” Molly yawns. Caleb squeezes him.

“ _Ich liebe dich,_ burrito Molly.”

Molly smiles absently as he closes his eyes and gives in near immediately to the blanket of sleep,

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.”

 

Molly wakes with Caleb in the morning, early, Caleb is due at work at eight and though the library is just around the corner, Caleb needs time to wake up. And Nott has already left, so Molly needs to get up, too.  
He whines when Caleb’s alarm goes off. He whines when Caleb’s hand smooths down the skin of his hip and disappears.  
He opens his eyes at the shift of weight of Caleb clambering over him, reaching down beside the bed, and shutting off the alarm.

“And good morning to you, too.” Molly smiles up at Caleb, still half asleep and on his knees above him.

Caleb flumps back down to Molly’s side and pulls him in, presses his face to Molly’s collarbone and whines.

“Don’t want to go, hm?” Molly shifts to stroke his hair gently, kisses the top of his head, “I don’t want you to go either, my darling, but you need to.”

“Just a little longer.” Caleb groans, Molly feels the scratch of his facial hair- it could hardly be called a beard- against his collarbone and chuckles.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes for Caleb’s hands to start dancing absently over Molly’s skin, and honestly, Molly had expected this. He knows well Caleb’s love for textures and learning, he’s happy and content enough to sit there and let Caleb’s fingertips map out the scars on his shoulders, arms, and thighs.  
He hears a hum of discontent from him, when his fingers run across a certain path on his upper thigh.

“Everything okay, darling?” Molly asks gently, peels back to kiss his forehead.

“What does this say?” Caleb asks, frowning. Molly’s eyes widen and he freezes a little, staring. Caleb doesn’t notice.  
“I know that it is words, but I cannot tell by touch, and I do not want to look when you are- undressed.”

“Caleb, I’ve been letting you run your hands over me all night. Do you think I give a shit if you see me naked?”

“No, I don’t doubt that. I just- I want to be respectful.”

Molly sighs and cups his cheek affectionately.

“You’re quite the gentleman. It says _I am not real_. It was… a bad patch that I went through, that I’m mostly over now. I’ve been clean for…” he pauses to count the months on his fingertips, “Three months. I still think, sometimes, that I’m not real, but...” Molly shrugs one shoulder, “You learn things in life.”

Ah. That’s what Nott had said, too.

Caleb sighs gently, kisses at Molly’s jaw, and finally sits up.

“We should get ready.” he says through a yawn, “I need to be at work soon. There is a workshop today.”

“Sounds fun.” Molly smiles, and rolls out of bed. Caleb snorts at him, as he hits the floor, rolls his eyes,

“It is _not_. I do not have the ability to deal with children, they require a kind of patience I do not have.”

“Would you like me to come by and help?” Molly asks, pops up over the side of the bed, “I’m good with children.”

“I- yes, actually. I would assume that you have clearance to work with children, given your career?”

“I’m clean.” Molly affirms, grins, “So I can come and work with my b- my Caleb?”

Caleb starts at the mistake, but doesn’t push.

“You can.” he smiles, leans over the side of the bed and brushes the loose strands of Molly’s hair from his face, kisses his forehead gently, “It will be nice to have you with me.”

 

Yasha is setting up a table in the clear space in the lobby when Molly and Caleb come in, hand-in-hand.

“Oh, hey, asshole.”

It’s Beau, not Yasha that greets them, straightens up and strides over to shove Molly’s shoulder.

“Hey Caleb.” she adds, like an afterthought to him and he smiles, shakes his head.

“Play nice. I need him.” He tells Beau, turns to kiss Molly’s cheek, and slips away to go and help Yasha.

“So, your partner got you roped in too, huh?” Beau tilts her head, expression deliberately bored but eyes curious and Molly smirks,

“First- he’s not my boyfriend. Second- I volunteered.”

“Not your boyfriend?” Beau echoes quietly with a laugh, “Molly, what the fuck?”

Molly shrugs, the confidence in him lapses just a little.

“I don’t want to take the risk of ruining things, or making things harder. I’m not here forever, you know, I don’t want to make the leaving harder, I don’t want to miss out on a second of time with him.”

Beau pulls a face,

“Ew, emotions, gay, gross.” She lists off, and shakes her head, “Well, whatever. I think you’re mad dumb, I think he’s in love with you, an’ I think that it’s _stupid_ not to try an’ at least find a way to make it work. But you do you, I ain’t here to babysit you, y’ idiot.”

Despite her harsh tone, she pauses a second, and grabs his arm, pulls him in for a hard, quick, awkward hug. Her arms around his shoulders are awkward and angled weird and sharp but it’s genuine, and she releases as suddenly as she’d grabbed him.

“Let’s go help. There’s a lot of chairs.” Beau’s voice is gruff and she turns, leads them toward Yasha and Caleb and stutters halfway.

“Don’t hurt him, Molly. He deserves better.”

“He deserves the world.” Molly says softly, “And I can’t give it to him.”

“You’re the only one he wants it from. You have to try.”

Yasha waves, and the conversation ends there as they slip into the rhythm of help.

 

Maybe, Molly considers around lunchtime, _maybe_ Caleb had a point about kids being exhausting.

He slips between bookshelves and into the adults section to lean gently against a wall and sigh. He buries his fingers in his hair and clenches just to relieve the stress.  
It’s a lot of emotional labour, being a librarian. He never would have guessed it.  
He hears footsteps and looks up sharply, expecting Caleb.

It’s Yasha.

“Are you doing alright?” she asks gently, “I know it can be tiring. You’re alright to take a break, or go home, if you want. You don’t have to stay.”

“I’ll stay for him.” Molly protests, “It’s only- what- two more hours?”

“Two and a half.” Yasha corrects, and comes to pat his shoulder when he groans.

“You can sit upstairs? It’s the staff room, Caleb has to use it frequently enough. I can cope with them for a while by myself, whilst they’re eating.”

Molly pauses, “Just for a few minutes?”

“Of course.” Yasha tilts her head and smiles, “I’ll send him up. You know you can ask for my help any time, Molly?”

He gives a loose chuckle. She takes a loose hold of his right wrist.

“Any time.” she emphasises.

“Thank you.” he gives as empty response, and she shakes her head,

“Staircase is this way. I’ll get Caleb.”

 

 

Molly finds the staffroom pleasant.  
It’s almost like an attic room, small-ish with a domed glass ceiling that fills the whole room with pale light through the dusty window. There’s a soft sofa and two armchairs, and Molly chooses the sofa to sit on and ball up.  
It doesn’t take long for Caleb to come up, and he almost sprints to Molly’s side and scoops him up.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m _fine_.” Molly can’t keep the annoyance out of his voice, “It’s just unusual and hard. Like you told me it would be.”

Caleb freezes and starts to draw away and Molly panics a little. He winds closer, tighter around Caleb with a noise of protest.

“I’m sorry I snapped.” Molly’s voice is muffled by Caleb’s shoulder, “Please don’t leave me.”

He thinks he might shake with repressed sobs, but can’t tell, he’s so close to Caleb all over. Caleb soothes and hushes and rubs his back with one hand, pushes him up a little with the other. Just enough to see his face, to cup his cheek gently.

“Molly, _Schatz, mein Engel,_ why would you think that I would leave you just for snapping?”

“Because everyone leaves.” oh, yes, he’s definitely sobbing, “Because everything is temporary. I don’t- I don’t want this to be temporary, Caleb, I don’t want _you_ to be temporary, I don’t want to _lose_ you like everything else.”

Caleb aches, he can think to do nothing more than stroke his thumb back and forth over Molly’s cheek as he cries, sets his hand to Molly’s hip and holds near-bruisingly tight.

“I will not leave you.” Caleb tells Molly firmly, “I will never leave you. You will have to leave before you can split us apart.”

“I’m going to.” Molly sobs, pressing his cheek into Caleb’s hand, “I have to leave.”

“We will work something out. You will not lose me.” Caleb promises.

Molly is so close to him.

It would be so easy.

His hand stills on Molly’s cheek and drifts, Caleb sees the red rims of Molly’s eyes and the way they slip half closed despite his surprise. He sees each little fleck and segment of brown in Molly’s beautiful, mismatched green eyes.  
He feels the heat and hitch of Molly’s breath as he tries to hold off his sobs in his disbelief.

It would be so easy.

“Caleb! Molly! Yasha needs y’!” Beau comes through the door at the _worst possible moment,_ makes Molly spring to his feet and straighten his clothes. She catches sight of his face and sighs,

“Heads up.”

A water bottle flies toward him, and he catches it on pure reflex, looks down at it.

“Thanks?”

“Put it to your eyes. Helps with the swelling. Drink, too, it’ll help with the headache. Now c’mon, she’s swamped with gremlins.”

Molly follows, Caleb a few seconds later.  
They had been so close. He should have kissed Molly. He should have chased the doubt away.  
The chance to kiss Molly may have passed, but Molly himself is still here.   
That’s got to be enough.

 

Molly takes a big swig of water as they come back down into the main room, Yasha looks frazzled already and Beau comes quickly to her side and mutters to her. Molly sees them share a brief kiss and smiles for them, they’ve found their happiness, that’s good. If only he could do the same.

Molly feels a tug on his sleeve.

He’s wearing one of Caleb’s three trenchcoat-style jackets, Caleb didn’t want to risk ruining his teller coat with the paints the children are using, but it’s familiar enough that he follows the line of the tug anyway. One of the children that he’d been talking to earlier stares up at him with big, blue eyes.  
Not as blue as Caleb’s, of course, but how could they ever be?

“Are you okay, mister Molly?” The kid asks, and Molly’s brain struggles for a name. _Ah-_

“I am now, thank you, Eila.” He gives her the most winning smile he can, and she frowns a little,

“You were crying.” she sounds more confused than accusatory, and Molly lets out a soft breath, leads her back to the group,

“Come on, back we go. Yes, I was crying, but I don’t need to now. You know, sometimes it makes you feel better to cry?”

Eila nods, a look of complete understanding on her face. Molly smiles at that.   
He knows it wasn’t the crying that made him feel better by far. It was Caleb. It was the distraction.

It was the almost-kiss.

He shakes himself back to the present, 

“Well, I feel better. What do you want to paint now?”

  


When the library closes at three in the afternoon, Molly is exhausted, and has three hours before work. Two before he needs to leave.  
Caleb catches his hand on the way out,

“Do you want a nap? We can go home for an hour…”

Molly shakes his head, sighing,

“I do, but I want a drink first. Preferably a hot chocolate. Preferably a _good_ hot chocolate.”

“There is a café just down the road.” Caleb points at the green-swirl design sign, “Perhaps another date?”

He gives Molly a small, mischievous smile, and Molly can’t help returning it. He turns and kisses Caleb’s hair sweetly,

“That sounds nice. Don’t expect me to be good conversation though.”

“It’s alright, I’m hardly good conversation myself.”

“I think you’re _wonderful_ conversation, my darling.” Molly squeezes his hand gently, and Caleb begins to lead the way to the café.

 

They sit down and order in close to no time at all, just a sandwich for Molly and two hot chocolates, one each. As they arrive, Molly frowns at the cup, looks up at Caleb. They’ve been quiet for a few minutes, now.

"Caleb?" Molly breaks the silence, "What's your favourite colour?"

"I- um. It is orange, but why-?"

Molly is already digging in the deep pockets of Caleb’s own coat- he’d brought his own things, can’t leave the house without the mess of anxiety and focus aids he owns,

"Sometimes, when I'm not feeling so great, I like to drink through a straw." to emphasise his point, he pulls a pack of easily a hundred and fifty plastic straws from his pocket, the kind that Caleb recognised could be picked up from poundland.

"What does that have to do with my favourite colour?" his tone is curious, not accusatory, and Molly smiles as he picks an orange straw from the pack, puts the pack away, and drops the straw into his hot chocolate.

"I like to use the colours of people I care about. It helps to remind me that I'm not alone, that I'm not empty, and people care about me."

Caleb can’t find the words to respond to that. Just offers Molly a hand across the table and feels him lace their fingers together with the kind of pressure that, a month ago, Caleb would have found terrifying. But here, with Molly, it’s not enough.

 

They finish up quick enough and head back home, tired and limp against one another.

Nott is in the main room, when they get in. They pop their heads in, just to say hello, and Caleb nearly jumps out of his skin to see Fjord sitting on his armchair, waving nervously.  
Molly’s breath catches, he looks from Fjord to Caleb, terrified of a repeat of Monday.  
Instead, though, Caleb takes a few brisk steps across the room and stoops to hug Fjord, awkwardly, but with sincerity.

“Fjord, I know that- I know I’ve apologised already-” he takes a quick step back to put the distance there, “- but I- you need, I really _am_ sorry. I am overprotective, and I overreacted. I forget, sometimes, that you are not _really_ my niece, Nott. That I don’t _need_ to protect you, because you carry a knife, and that is protection enough.”

Nott gives a snort of laughter and stands from the sofa to gently headbutt Caleb’s arm, and Fjord chuckles gently.

“Caleb, it’s a’right, if it were me, I’d be cautious too. Six years don’t seem like much of an age gap, but it is- an’ Nott, mature as y’ might be, th’ people like what Caleb’s thinkin’ of, y’are still a kid. That’s what’s so allurin’ for ‘em, an’ I’m glad that Caleb’s lookin’ out for y’ so well.”

“Still.” Caleb shifts, half agreeing, “Are your ribs okay? Jester mentioned they may be bruised.”

“Anyone heavier than you would’a done some damage with the speed an’ accuracy you got. But naw, I’m fine, I’m thick-skinned enough.”

“I am glad you’re okay. I cannot apologise enough.”

Fjord shakes his head and rolls his eyes,

“Look, if you’re that bothered abou’ it, y’ should talk to Beau about dealin’ with your problems in a more _effective_ way. She seems fighty, she’s real good at punchin’ if that’s somethin’ y’wanna know, but she’s also a strategist, and a realist. She knows the best way t’ deal with rough situations, ‘stead o’ goin’ in all fists flailin’.”

Caleb documents this information in his mind and, eventually, nods.

“I will do that. Thank you, Fjord, for being so understanding.”

Fjord shrugs,

“That’s my talent. An’ thank you for apologisin’, it means a lot t’ me.”

Molly shuffles in from the door, up to Nott as she re-settles herself on the sofa.

He prods her shoulder gently.

“Does this count as _in public_?” he asks low, and she looks from Fjord to Caleb and shakes her head,

“No. This is trusted territory.”

He kisses the top of her hair lightly, the sensation of her curls still unfamiliar to him, and when he stands back upright she smiles at him. Bright, a little terrifying, but very _Nott_.

 

Molly thinks it’s wonderful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A panic attack and plenty of cuddles!

Caleb and Molly skitter off upstairs soon after, leaving Nott and Fjord to talk together over some programming project that Caleb doesn’t understand for shit. He and Nott are very different kinds of intelligent, he thinks, as he lets Molly drag him upstairs by the hand.

Molly huffs loudly when they get into their- Caleb’s- room. He lets go for just long enough to take off Caleb’s coat and hang it on the back of the single chair in the room, tucked under Caleb’s desk. Just long enough to unzip his binder, and then turns back to bury himself in Caleb.

Caleb wraps him up gently, bundles him into his arms and sighs softly.

“Bed.”

“Bed.” Molly agrees and they shuffle together, without letting go, they manage not to trip on the way. And then they collapse on the bed in a tangle of limbs and half-formed chuckles, not enough energy to bring them all the way up.

“An hour?” Caleb asks, one arm around Molly, the other setting an alarm on his phone. Molly nods against his shoulder and yawns, Caleb sets the alarm, and drops it over the edge of the bed.

“ _Gute Nacht, mein Engel_.”

“Goodnight, my darling.” Molly mumbles, clinging close. His loose binder is uncomfortable, would be, if he could focus on anything but the tight grip that Caleb has on him, on the lips pressed to the top of his head.

Caleb had almost kissed him.

 _So close_ , so fucking close to kissing him.

Had it been intentional? Romantic? Molly knows that sometimes emotions can drive kisses born of desperation, that would have to be it. What else would it be?  
  
“Molly,” Caleb says sleepily, “You’re thinking too loud.”

“Am not.” Molly replies instinctively, and Caleb chuckles.

“You are. What’s wrong?”

“Overthinking.” Molly answers cryptically, burrows closer toward him, “It’s fine. I’ll stop, now, I promise.”

“It is okay if you can’t, you know.” Caleb peels him away to meet his eyes, “You can’t help it.”

“I’d prefer it if you’d just crush me half to death and let me sleep.” Molly jokes, “It helps to keep it away.”

Caleb tugs him in and does as he asks, Molly feels his spine pop just a little bit and sighs into the pressure of it.

“Thank you, darling.” Molly smiles, presses his face to the crook of Caleb’s neck, “This is perfect.”

 

Molly doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he feels the weight of it when the alarm goes off just under an hour later and Caleb has to detangle them to turn it off.

“Fuck.” Molly groans, “I don’t want to go to work.”

“I know.” Caleb smiles, sat up beside him, “But you need to.”

“It isn’t fair.” Molly whines and Caleb puts a hand gently over his mouth, leans over to kiss the tip of his nose.

“I will see you later, Molly, come on. Up.”

Molly sighs.

“Only for you, darling. Would you do my binder up?”

Molly tugs his shirt off to give Caleb the access to the zip, placed rather awkwardly down his spine. Given enough time, he thinks, he could get it himself but this is better. This is more intimate. Caleb’s fingers brush across his skin and he sighs contentedly at the touch.

“I still don’t want to leave you.” Molly whines, Caleb smooths his hands down the binder, across Molly’s back, settles them at his hips instead. Molly hisses.

“You bruised, earlier.” He says, pats his right hand, and Caleb lets go with wide-eyes and garbled apologies. Molly laughs, as he stands and pulls his shirt on.

“I’m sorry, Molly, I just- I worried, and it is no excuse, I forgot my own strength-”

“Caleb. Darling.” Molly turns and catches Caleb’s hands as they wave anxiously around him, pulls them in and holds them and kisses his knuckles. Caleb just stared with wide eyes, cut off, still.

“It’s fine.” Molly assures, “It’s _good_. I- ah- I like it.”

“You… like it? The bruises?”

Molly shrugs, kisses his knuckles again, brushes his lips over Caleb’s skin so lightly it’s barely a touch at all.

“It’s like a mark.” He says quietly, “I know it seems, a lot, like- like a sexual thing but I just… I like it. Because I know that it was done out of- you care about me. It’s easy to convince myself you don’t, I like the reminders that you do.”

Again, Caleb thinks it would be so easy to kiss him now. Bruisingly hard, just the way he’s telling him he enjoys it and yet- he can’t. He won’t

“Go to work, _Engel_.” he says instead, slipping a hand loose from Molly’s grip to cup his cheek and draw him in so that he can kiss his forehead.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” Molly answers, kisses Caleb’s knuckles once more, and shuffles away.

 

Jester greets Molly as he comes out of the shower in the trailer, already dressed with his hair still bound up in a towel.

“ _Hey_ , Molly.” She lilts, “You want some help with your hair?”

He looks at her, squinting, dubious. Jester rarely does favours out of the goodness of her heart, she _usually_ asks for something in return.

Of course, if you say no, she’ll keep on helping, but- it’s the principle.

“What do you want for it?”

He heads past her to the main room. Gustav and Desmond are already out, they have about half an hour before Molly is due on shift and Jester is already dressed to the nines in her crystalline show outfit.

“I just want to know how you and Caleb are going.” She chirrups, follows him through and stands behind him when he sits at the table. He sighs almost happily, Jester has brought her little pots of blue and silver glitter over and a bunch of her little trails of crystals.

“And you’ll do the rose braids?”

“I’ll do the rose _basket_.” she beams. Molly snorts a little,

“Do we have time?”

“I don’t have to be in ‘til seven, Gustav won’t notice if you’re fifteen minutes late.” she puts her hands on his shoulders, and he rolls his eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes! Fuck, fine, we have a deal. You better make me _goddamn beautiful_.”

“You already are.” Jester chuckles as she unwinds his hair and drapes the dry side around his shoulders. Molly finds himself smiling.

“Caleb would say that too.”

“Ooh!” Jester grins, picks his brush from the table and gets to work smoothing it through, “I’m already getting the gossip! Keep going.”

“Well, we went on our first date yesterday- ow- at the _Haeven_. You know, the little rustic one on the back streets, by the piercing store?”

“Oh! That’s so _sweet_!” Jester beams, puts the brush down and tugs her fingers through his hair to ensure it’s all smooth. Then, she picks a section at the left side of his head, and makes a rough parting before she begins to braid.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” Molly sighs softly, “Seems genuinely endeared to me using the straws. We went for a walk on the beach, afterward- oh, Jester!” He whines, pulls his hands to his face, since he can’t plant his face to the table, “He’s so _beautiful_. He calls me _his_ angel, but he’s the angel, Jester.”

“He calls you his angel?” Jester teases, “That’s gay, Molly.”

“ _Mein Engel_.” Molly murmurs absently, “That’s what he says. In German.”

“What else does he say?” Jester hums, halfway to the base of his neck on the first braid.

Molly thinks about the sounds, the noises, tries his best to imitate,

“ _Mein Schatz_ ,” he gets that one easily enough, “Uh- _mein Liebling_. And-” he cuts himself off. Jester tugs his hair a little.

“What? And what do they mean?” Her eyes are wide, he can see them in the reflection of the mirror. He takes hold of the little pot of vaseline, a tiny brush, and begins to paint the swirling shapes onto his cheeks. It takes some care.

“ _Schatz_ , he told me, means _Treasure_. And _Liebling_ , that means _Darling_.”

“There’s _mo-ore_.” Jester lilts, temp-ties the braid and moves to the other side, “I know there is, Molly, I know you.”

“He says something else, a lot.” he fiddles, twirls the brush between his fingers, “I don’t know what it means. I have- I have an idea, but I don’t want you to ask me. Okay?”

“Okay, Molly, whatever makes you comfortable.” the second braid comes around the base of Molly’s skull. She pats his shoulder gently.

“ _Ich liebe dich_.” He imitates, softly, and Jester’s breath hitches behind him.

“Molly…”

“You know, don’t you? Don’t tell me. It’s not mine to know, it’s not yours to tell.”

“I won’t tell you.” She promises, smooths her fingers through the last section of loose hair, “It’s rose time. Ready?”

“Any time, darling- just let me-” he pulls the glitter pots closer, within arm’s reach whilst she waits, “Okay. Go.”

 

 

Between them, they manage to get Molly prepped and out of the door just before ten past, and Jester, as usual, acts as Molly’s lure for the evening. She gets her palm read, on one side of the carnival, and they snake around opposite sides of the stalls toward the tent, giving Jester a turn on Molly’s crystal ball before she heads in to work, drops a kiss on his cheek as she leaves.

Molly makes his way slowly back, doing tarot readings, crystal ball… whatever they’re called, palm readings, the whole shebang. He hadn’t realised, whilst she was working, but Jester has twined the little crystals that she wears into the roses of his hair.

It feels odd, to have all of his long, thick hair bound up and still drying in the sea breeze. It’ll be dry, he thinks, come morning. He’ll have to condition it something fierce. But it’s beautiful and glittering and Jester has done such a wonderful job.

“Lookin’ fly, Tealeaf.”

Beau and Yasha stroll up, arm-in-arm, Beau’s eyebrows raised.

“Thank you. Was that a compliment?”

“Naw, you look like _a_ fly. Compound eyes. Annoying. Slappable.”

“Charming. Hello, Yasha, darling. Would you like a tarot reading?”

Yasha eyes him, the glitter, the hair, the crystal ball he’s still rolling in his hands.

“I’d prefer the ball.” She tells him, voice so soft that he barely hears it over the clamour of the carnival. He beams for her.

“Of course, darling, here- you hold it, and focus on your future, on wanting to know,” he hands it over, “And I’ll tell you what I see.”

Yasha cups the ball in her hands. Despite all of Molly’s handling, the ball is cool to the touch, and perfectly flawless. She stares at it, and Molly smooths his hands over the ball, over her hands, like smoothing out a cloth, and studies the glass surface.  
It’s rare that Molly gets a real reading from the ball. He mostly just looks at it for ten seconds or so, then makes up some bullshit and reads whoever it is to direct the next thing he says.

This time, he doesn’t need to bullshit.

He barely needs to _look_ before he’s seeing images, flashing at him too quick and he groans internally a moment.  
_‘Slow down.’_ he begs silently. They do. Start from the beginning.

He sees first, a morning glory. A loose scattering of forget-me-nots and irises surround it, like a fairy ring. Slowly, slowly, Molly sees eryngiums sprout along the ring, and the flowers weave to form a wreath.

A single eryngium sprouts beside the morning glory.

And all of the other flowers besides the morning glory fade suddenly. He sees it replaced, with lavender, in a ring around the morning glory. The lavender is thick and bright and he can almost smell it, the morning glory has a bright, golden middle.

And yet it still looks lonely.

The flowers fade away in the centre of the ball and the last sight that he sees, dancing up to the surface, is one he knows well. A tarot card.

 

The eight of cups.

 

He feels like he’s surfacing from a deep pool as he sits up, gasping, shakes away the familiarity of such a sensation like a dog shedding water.

“Molly?” Beau asks, pokes his shoulder, “Y’good?”

“Don’t disturb the man.” Yasha chides, but she’s smiling, and Molly smiles too at the address.

“Okay, so- I saw a bunch, that’s- it’s unusual. So give me a moment, to interpret it?”

“Of course.” Yasha agrees sagely, and hands the ball back as Molly thinks. He tucks it away safely.

The first image clearly represented Yasha’s life before, with Nott and Caleb as her only friends. Her protection.

He looks up at her and wonders how heavily she’d leaned on them, and what he’d see if he read the ball for them.

The eryngium flowers- Beau. They’re the flower Caleb has for her. Her relationship? Integrating Beau into her life with Caleb and Nott, the plants had weaved together, walled her in, kept her safe and then-  
Then they’d gone. They’d been replaced.

With Molly.

The lavender, Molly, it could be nobody else- and when he thinks of the card his eyes grow wide in something like horror.  
The eight of cups. A physical separation, hard and cruel.  
He puts the pieces together and comes up with an answer.

Yasha is going to leave Beau, leave her home, leave her friends.

Because Molly is going to ask her to.

Without his own permission, Molly’s mouth runs. Tells her, instead of the truth, a story of a field of lavender on fire, doused by water running with morning glories. Tells her of violet skies and vast plains and thunderstorms so bright and loud that all he sees is white.

Yasha’s eyes grow wide, and Molly keeps talking. Wheat fields and distant towns and the northern lights at the most northern parts of Scotland, moorland and motorways and suddenly everything is too much. Too loud.

“Molly.” Beau says, sounds startled, “You’re crying.”

He is. He’s gasping for breath, trying to suck anything in but it just isn’t working. It just isn’t working.

Yasha looks at Beau in shocked fear.

“Go up to the tent.” She tells Beau firmly, “Tell Gustav that Molly had a panic attack. Tell him that- does he know my name, Molly?”

“I- Maybe- can’t breathe-” Molly chokes, and devolves into wordless gasps.

“Yasha. Tell him Yasha, tell him his soulmate, tell him I’m taking him home.”

“To the trailer?” Beau asks, and she already knows the answer.

“To Caleb.” Yasha locks her eyes on Beau’s, briefly, and ducks in for a firm kiss. “Go.”

Beau takes off with shocking speed, Molly feels himself collapse to the floor. Yasha kneels beside him, shoots death glares at the folk surrounding them, clamouring.

“Molly, I need to touch you. I’m going to carry you for a little bit, and then I’ll put you down, and I won’t touch you again, okay? I just need to get you out of here. You can nod, if that’s okay.”

It’s not. Molly doesn’t want to be touched. He just needs to breathe, everything will be okay when he can breathe- but he knows, inside, that he won’t be able to breathe until there’s quiet. Until there’s safe. Until he’s home.

He nods.

“I’ll be as quick as possible.”

And she scoops him up.

Everywhere she touches burns, she holds the ball of Mollymauk in her arms like she’d carry a small chair, like a hoop that he sits in and she moves with a shocking speed for someone so well-muscled and broad-shouldered. It feels, simultaneously, like forever, and seconds, and then they’re beside a silvery-white car in a make Molly doesn’t know and she sets him down with his back to the cool metal on the passenger side, takes two big steps back.

“When you can move.” She says, gently, “Get in. I’ll take you home. Take all the time you need, I know- I know this hurts. I’m patient. It’s okay.”

Her voice is gentle and quiet and it _helps_ , just a little, just enough for Molly to crawl shaking to his feet and get in the car.  
Yasha gets in across from him.

“Buckled up?”

Molly gives one, jerky nod.

“Music?”

A shake.

“I’m going to use the voice system to text Caleb. Is that okay?”

There’s a pause before he nods, twice, and Yasha nods back as the plugs her phone in and kicks off the engine, pulling out.

 

**[from: Yasha 21:37]**

I’m Bringing Molly Home.

 

Caleb checks the clock on the wall to make sure his phone is showing the right time. Nott sees his startled look, squints at her own phone as it buzzes.

 

**[to: Yasha 21:38]**

Now? It is three hours before his shift ends?

 

**[from: Yasha 21:38]**

Yes Now. See You Soon.

 

He gets the feeling from her crypticism that she doesn’t want to talk about it with Molly so close, they must be in the car together, he looks over at Nott like she could hold answers.  
And she does.

“Molly had a panic attack?” She asks, looks from her phone to Caleb, “Beau text me. Told me to let her know when he got here safe.”

“She likes to pretend that she does not care, but she does.” Caleb sighs, rubs his temple and swallows the acrid taste of worry down. He moves to sit at the window. In his usual position.

He waits.

Yasha keeps her promise and after they roar up the hill from Blackwater to the main A-road, she doesn’t speak again. She _does_ regulate her breathing, silent, careful, and is pleased to find Molly mimicking her almost unconsciously.

 

It’s a very conscious decision.

 

By the time they roll up outside Caleb’s house, Molly has calmed to the point of being able to walk, shakily, and get out a few words without his heart rate reaching another crescendo.

Yasha walks beside him, but separate, up the steps, in case he collapses, and leaves him to the door.

“Be safe.” She tells him as he knocks. The bolts are going on the other side, she turns to leave, and feels a hand on her upper arm. Light as you like.

“Thank you.” Molly says hoarsely, “For this.”

“Anytime you need me, Molly.” she answers seriously, the door opens, and Yasha heads back to her car to the sound of Molly bundling himself deliberately in Caleb’s arms.

 

  
They head upstairs near as soon as the door closes behind them, Nott peering from the doorway with those _eyes_. The ones that always seem to reflect the light, no matter where they are.

“I’ll bring up two hot chocolates.” She tells them seriously, and heads to the kitchen.

Molly lets out a soft laugh through the thickness of his tears.

 

Nott does as she promises. She brings up three, in fact, and sits on the floor in front of the bed.

Molly finds he wants her there.

She’s a comfort to him.

She doesn’t immediately press or pry like he knows she wants to, just sits silently and sips and watches him carefully as he cuddles up to Caleb and drinks.

“Do you want to talk about what brought it on?”

Ah, well. Her curiosity couldn’t be sated like this forever.

“Not really.” yes please.

“It could help.” She coaxes, “If you talk about it, maybe we can try and rationalise some of it.”

Molly frowns at his cup.

“Do you believe in fate?”

“No.” Says Caleb.

“Yes.” Says Nott, “Sort of.”

“You know that I’m a tarot reader. And crystal balls and palms and that?”

“ _Ja_.” Nott replies. Molly looks up at her with shock and a smile and she returns it with a gesture to continue.

“I read for Yasha, in the crystal ball. Usually, I don’t see anything, it’s not like the cards, but- I saw things. I saw flowers, a story about Yasha having you two to look out for her, twining your lives with Beau’s, and me taking that all away. Taking her away.” he shakes his head, “It’s longer than that, but I can’t- I can’t-”

His heart rate is speeding back up and Nott soothes wordlessly, just makes sounds until he gets his breathing back under control.

“It’s okay, Molly. If it’s meant to happen, then it’s meant to happen. If not, you’ll find a way to stop it- just know that anything that happens isn’t your fault, it’s all fate.”

It’s _exactly_ the right thing to say. It hits Molly at his core and he stills, hollow for a moment.

“Thank you, Nott.” he says, the tone of a man seeing the light of dawn, “That’s- yeah.”

She inclines her head with a knowing smile and scuffles to her feet.

“Done with your mugs?”

Molly drains the last mouthful as Caleb hands his over, and she takes it from him as it comes down.  
Molly catches her eye.  
_‘I trust you.’_ she mouths, Molly’s eyes widen, and she waves heartily through her goodbyes as she slips down the stairs and closes the hatch behind her, leaving Molly and Caleb completely alone.  
Caleb turns to him.

“Are you okay, _Liebling_?” he asks in sweet concern and Molly gives him a tired smile.

“Yeah- better now. You have such nice friends.”

“They are your friends, too.” Caleb points out, “They care for you, as I do. In different ways, perhaps, but… they care.”

Molly wants to push it. To ask _how_ it’s different. He wants to hope.  
He doesn’t do any of those things.

“Thank you.” He says, fingertips moving to his head and he groans as he feels the twin braids going back, “Jester put in so much effort to do this and make me pretty and look at me now! I’m a mess.”

“No, you are not.” Caleb sets one hand to Molly’s shoulder, reaches out with the other to open his top drawer and feel around for the pack of wet wipes he keeps in there, “You are not a mess. And if you are, you are the most beautiful mess I have ever seen.”

Molly blinks at him dumbly, and Caleb pulls out the wipes.

“Do you want my help taking it off to sleep?”

“Yes, please.” Molly half-groans, “I can’t do it myself.”

It’s all the encouragement that Caleb needs to take out a wipe and begin to take the glitter from Molly’s cheeks. Where he clears a patch, he presses his lips, murmuring affection in German the whole time and Molly watches him reverently.

Caleb is so sweet to do this.

And when the glitter is gone, Molly pauses them to take off his binder and coat and clothes and waits patiently as Caleb eases the pins out of his hair and begins to unwind the roses, untangle the little jewels, and he strokes down the back of Molly’s hair as it comes loose into a somewhat-tamer, still damp sheet. Caleb strokes the tangles out with his fingers and, with impulse and no caution whatsoever, he sweeps the curtain of hair aside and presses a kiss to Molly’s back, right between his shoulder blades. Ghosts the fingertips of one hand over the ridge and curve of the bone.

“ _Mein Engel_ ,” he murmurs gently, “You are so beautiful, Molly. So perfect.”

“You’re speaking in English, my love.” Molly smiles, exhaustion in his voice and Caleb slips forward on his knees to tuck his arms around Molly’s waist, chin on his shoulder, tilts his face to the crook of Molly’s neck.

Molly leans back into him.

“It is deliberate.” Caleb’s breath is warm against Molly’s neck, “I want you to know how I see you. Ethereal like that, like you are not human but something higher. I want you to know that I think you are gorgeous. And handsome. And an angel.”

Molly’s breath comes out in a long, even line.

“I think a lot of the same about you.” He tells Caleb, “I don’t have the way with words that you do.”

“I- I am nothing, compared to you.” Caleb squeezes and lets go to begin changing, “I am garbage.”

“Caleb, you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.” Molly protests, plucking his sleeping shirt from his bag, pulling it on. Caleb makes a face as he tugs his off and Molly gets another view of his burn scars.

They curl and bubble across his skin, leaving pink, whirling marks in their wake. In their own way, Molly thinks that they’re beautiful.  
That Caleb is stunning.

“Would you leave the shirt off? For me?” he asks before he can stop himself, and Caleb turns with an expression of fear. Molly tilts his head, “You can say no. I’d just- I don’t know.”

Caleb creeps back toward the bed.

“I don’t know that I would be comfortable to leave it off all night but- but for now. I can.”

He sits on the very end of the bed.

“Please do not judge me. I know that I am hideous.”

“Lie down, darling.” Molly sighs, gentle, and though Caleb does as he’s asked, he looks somewhat confused.

“Molly?”

Molly swings a leg over Caleb’s hips and straddles the tops of his thighs, plants his hands to either side of Caleb’s head and hovers above, his lavender hair pouring down to their left and blocking out the moonlight. Caleb sees only the glimmer of Molly’s eyes above him.

“Tell me if you need me to stop?”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Molly sinks. To Caleb’s throat, first, the very tips of the scars only just visible when his turtleneck is pulled down.

And he kisses.

He trails a line of kisses all across Caleb’s shoulder, down his arm, even kisses his fingertips before he moves back up, to the shoulder again and pauses,

“Still okay?”

“ _Ja_.” Caleb sounds breathless, thick, on the edge of tears. Molly waits, thumb brushing back and forth across the scars on Caleb’s shoulder,

“Darling, it’s okay if you’re not.” He tells Caleb softly, “I want you to be happy with this. That’s the aim.”

“I promised that I would tell you if I need you to stop.” Caleb’s voice is breathy and when Molly looks to his face, there’s strands of ginger stuck to the sides of his face with a sheen of sweat.

“I’ll keep going, then?”

“Please.”

Molly lowers shakily back down, kisses a trail this time down the side of Caleb’s chest, no inch of the scars spared and he finds, eventually, Caleb’s fingers threaded through his still-damp hair and settling.

Molly can feel Caleb falling to sleep quietly underneath him, and almost as soon as Caleb slips away, Molly is falling too. So he settles his head gently on Caleb’s soft stomach, hair splayed like a spray to the left of them, he cuddles up and joins his Caleb in sleep.

 

 

They wake up having hardly moved.

The sunlight through the skylight is strong and warm, just as Caleb is under Molly’s cheek.

“Morning.” Caleb sighs gently above him, and Molly peels himself carefully from Caleb- thank _goodness_ for body hair; the dusting across Caleb’s body keeps Molly’s skin from sticking. He re-settles himself straddling the tops of Caleb’s thighs, and smiles down, sleepy and warm and all-around _happy_.

“Morning.” He finally replies, and finds Caleb’s hands sweeping up his own thighs to settle at his hips.

“I could get used to this wake-up, you know.” Caleb smiles, distant and tired and Molly mimics the veiled sadness behind the expression.

“So could I. Wish we could.”

“Don’t think about it.” Caleb murmurs, pulling at Molly’s hips until he shifts, instead of sliding forward, he simply flattens himself down and folds his arms under his chin on Caleb’s chest.

“That’s good advice, darling.” Molly purrs gently, “I don’t want to think about it.”

Caleb shifts to cuddle Molly closer to him, winds his arms around his waist and sighs softly.

“What time do you need to leave today?” Caleb’s voice is barely a murmur, too busy appreciating just how beautiful Molly is in the morning light. Molly strokes a strand of hair back from Caleb’s face, brushes his fingertips across Caleb’s cheekbone.

“I want to go into town, with Nott, ideally. Secrets.” and a wink and Caleb chuckles.

He’s shocked, somewhat, to find that the information being kept from him doesn’t unnerve him. He _trusts_ Molly, and besides- why would he take Nott if it was something that could hurt Caleb? Nott would rip him apart as soon as hear it. He squeezes gently across Molly’s back.

“I’m sure she won’t mind.” Caleb strains to shift and manages to catch Molly’s arm within range of a kiss, “She’s meeting with Fjord at midday.”

“I’ll ask if I can join her. What time is it?”

“Ten.” Caleb replies without needing to look. Molly chuckles,

“I should get up, then.”

Caleb whines softly as Molly tips himself off of him, clambers out of bed, watches as he stands and stretches and brushes his hair back over his shoulder.

He turns.

Caleb is a sight to behold, stretched out and stained golden on the dusky brown-pink of his quilt-cover. Molly finds himself stunned for a moment, eyes wide and breath shallow and Caleb watching him with a reverence that he doesn’t deserve.

The words bubble on his tongue, desperate to froth over and out and he shuts his mouth with a determined _snap_.

“Will you be okay, here?” He asks with his back to Caleb, occupying himself with stripping off and pulling his binder on. The solid skin-tone one.

“ _Ja_ , I will manage. I am sure it will be hard, but I will survive.” there’s the lilting tone of teasing to his voice and it makes Molly smile a little, chuckle a little.

“Good. I’d hate to come home to find my Caleb all messed up on the floor.”

“Your Caleb?” Caleb raises an eyebrow, and Molly pauses halfway through pulling his shirt from his bag. He lets go, crosses to the bed, and ducks down with a hand under Caleb’s chin to kiss his cheek.

“My Caleb.”

Caleb sighs contentedly, and Molly moves back to getting dressed,

“Now, _my Caleb_. Do you know how to braid hair?”

 

Molly leaves the house with a thick braid down his back, it isn’t the neatest but it’s firm, and Caleb did it. So it’s special.  
Nott walks beside him, side-eyes him as he runs his fingers over each segment of the braid.

“It’ll come out if you keep fiddling.” She warns, and they turn the corner into the town centre. Molly smiles distantly,

“I’m just appreciating it.” He tells her, and she shakes her head in something like disbelief.

“What are you even coming _out_ for? Why do you need _me_?”

“I want to buy the things for Caleb’s present.” Molly shrugs, “You know him best.”

“What’re you getting him?” her eyes are wide and suddenly interested and Molly has to grab her shoulder to stop her from walking into the road. They wait until they’re over safely before Molly answers,

“I need to buy flowers- the fake ones? You know, material? And florist’s tape, and… those battery powered fairy lights you can buy in poundland. And superglue.”

“But _what_ are you doing with it?”

“I’m going to make him a flower crown.” Molly says, determination in all, “One that lights up. Like a halo.”

“A… light-up flower crown.” Nott says slowly, “Why?”

“Caleb always calls me his angel.” Molly feels warmth fill him at the thought, “I want him to remember that he’s mine, too.”

Nott is silent as she pulls him around a corner toward the meeting point. Fjord waves from the benches at the other end of the street.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Molly. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.”

Fjord stands as they approach, and double-takes at Molly.

“Oh, y’joinin’ us?”

Nott nods, speaks for him,

 

“We’re going to find things for Caleb.” She says seriously, “It’s going to be great.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flower crown comes in just in time.

Fjord takes Molly back to the Carnival in his car, partially so that Molly can begin work on the flower crown, partially so that Molly can collect Gustav’s car to get home to Caleb. And then back to work. It’s going to be a long and busy day.

“How long d’you reckon you’re gonna be here, then?” Fjord asks, hits the little lever for the indicator. By the book. Very Fjord.

Molly hesitates partway through trimming down a stem,

“I haven’t checked in on the Carnival’s status in a while.” He admits, “I’ve been too focused on Caleb. I love him, Fjord.”

A full-body shiver runs through him at the admission- it’s the first time he’s said it so explicitly out loud, to someone other than his family, and Fjord smiles.

“We know y’ do. But y’ain’t done anythin’ about it- why?”

“I can’t risk hurting him.” Molly goes back to cutting sullenly, “I can’t get into a relationship when I’m leaving.”

“Why don’t y’ try the long-distance thing?”

“No phone.” Molly sighs, and cuts a long piece of florist’s tape to bind the stem to the next one. Fjord shakes his head,

“You could stay here! Or even, Caleb could go with y’.”

Molly halts.  
He hadn’t thought of that.  
For a moment, it’s like a sunbeam has hit him and warms him with blinding light- and then then the clouds return.

“No.” He says, softly, “It’s- it would be a choice, Fjord. His happiness, my happiness, a relationship- I can only pick two. I can’t have them all.”

“How’d’you know he wouldn’t want it? Almost there.”

They’re pulling by the gas station that Beau works at.

“I can’t ask him for that. I love him too much to suggest it, Fjord.”

Fjord gives a heavy sigh, and turns the corner to the marina,

“Whatever y’ say, Molly. I can’t change y’ mind.”

“You sound like Beau.”

“We are best friends.” Fjord smiles a little, Molly rolls his eyes,

“Don’t let people think you care, now.”

“You sound like Nott.” Fjord comes back without hesitation, makes Molly laugh, and smiles at the sound himself.

They pull into the marina.

“Get Jes t’ call me if y’ever need me, Molly. Or Nott, she an’ I talk near-constantly anyway, won’t harm her to drop me a line from you.”

“I appreciate that, thank you. You look out for Nott, now, y’hear?”

Molly tries to imitate him, and Fjord laughs at it, gentle, not malicious.

“She’s lookin’ out for me, if anythin’. Life’s easier with her in, turns out my boss has been short-payin’ me for months, an’ I can’t afford a lawyer so Nott’s helpin’ me code a virus to spam-send google image results for ‘dick pic’ to all his email contacts.”

Molly pauses for a few seconds as the words trickle into place, and then bursts into loud, raucous laughter. He leans over, headbutts Fjord’s shoulder affectionately and sits back to gather his things back together into his bag.

“Three hours before your shift.” Fjord warns, and Molly nods as he slips out of the car.

“Noted. See you, thanks for the lift.”

Fjord waves as he drives off, and Molly takes a deep, steadying breath before he makes his way up to the trailer. He knows that Gustav will want to see him, to be angry or worried or both. He needs to drop in on his family.

 

Gustav is doing Desmond’s make-up when Molly comes in. He looks up only briefly, halfway through daubing black over Desmond’s scars.

“There you are.” He says gently, absently, goes back to his work, “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, it- uh- Caleb. Yasha and Caleb fixed me.”

“They didn’t _fix_ you, that implies that you were broken.” Gustav chastises, and Molly gives a sickly smile.

“I was. I’m sorry I left.”

“Don’t be an idiot, son, you know I’d rather you tapped out than tried to walk on a broken leg. Come here.” he puts the sponge down and opens his arms to Molly and smiles as Molly pours into his hug like a flood.

He likes it when Gustav drops _son_ like that. Nothing big, nothing concrete, just a reassurance that, yes, that’s the way that he sees Molly. There’s no changing that.

He curls into the hug and feels Gustav gather him loosely in, still and silent and waiting for Molly to decide that everything is okay and pull away again.

He goes back to his bag, when he does, Gustav picks up the makeup sponge and goes back to Desmond. He shifts a glance over and grins,

“That the flower crown?”

“It’s- the makings of, how did you know?”

“Nott told Jester about it. She thinks it’s a great idea. Nott, that is, Jester thinks you should get him a ring.”

Molly gives a brief laugh, then, and Desmond does the same to a frown from Gustav,

“Hey. Keep still, you.”

“You expect me to be quiet at that? I’m not a statue!”

Molly smiles at the brief back-and forth that follows, and sighs softly. It’s something, he thinks, that he wants. The understanding. And, he shocks himself as he thinks that he doesn’t just want this with Caleb- he wants it with Yasha, too.

Ah. Soulmate bonds, he supposes.

It still sickens him to know what he’s going to do to her but he pushes it out of his mind as he bids his family goodbye and heads out to the car.

 

He spends a few minutes in the car working on the crown. He has the basic ring finished, works on adding more to it, winding in the lights- it will take some more time yet to finish, but it’s well on the way.

He thumbs through the flowers he’s bought for this- at least five different stores, he’d been to, to find the right ones. He still has the little crumpled note in his jeans pocket.

There’s a spray of red and pink carnations, he’d managed to buy those together and blessed whoever would listen for the luck. Red, for admiration, for _my heart aches_ , and pink- _I’ll never forget you_.  
He hopes, distantly, that Caleb doesn’t understand what they mean. He doesn’t want to hurt him.  
He puts the bag on the passenger seat and pulls the engine to life, mentally assessing the other flowers as he drives. It helps to keep his brain occupied.

There’s the tiny orange roses, he’s wound those around the stems of the carnations, the fascination of someone so beautiful and wonderful as Caleb. There’s not a lot of orange flowers that he knows the meaning of, it’s really quite tragic.

Orange tulips had been a pain in the _everything_ to find. He’d managed to get four, they’d cost him enough, but for the meaning of _joy_ he couldn’t pass them up. Plus, the pack they’d come in had the coral-coloured sweet pea flowers, and as much as the _goodbye_ hurts, he’ll take it.

He also has the little ropes of forget-me-nots. He’s not sure if he’ll include them, yet, but he saw and bought them anyway- perhaps, he thinks, perhaps he’ll turn them into a bracelet. Something that _he_ can take.

Oh.

Hold on.

Molly looks at the blank back of his left hand as he takes the final turn into Bleakburn.

He could do one better than _bracelets-_ and he searches, immediately, he knows-

 

Molly parks a distance from the tattoo shop.

It’s in the centre of town, where the roads don’t run, and he hopes with everything in him that they’ll do walk-ins. He doesn’t think he could stand the waiting.

 

The town is small enough that they do, though the only artist they can spare for him is a trainee, Molly doesn’t mind. She shyly shows him her other sketches, her experiments and her former runs, and though there’s only a small handful, Molly can see the potential in her work and sits down for her.

It takes them barely ten minutes to run up a sketch, another five for the transfer outlines, and she gets to work.

Molly learns that her name is Quinn, that she knows Caleb, that she frequents the library. And that, coincidentally, she’s been reading up on floriography lately.

“ _True love memories_ ,” She says lightly, her voice quiet and soft, “Is this intentional?”

“Partially.” Molly answers, “It’s also his soulmate mark, his flower, so… double meaning.”

“Oh. You know his soulmate?” Quinn turns away with a dubious expression to fiddle with needles and colours. Molly chuckles softly.

“Yeah. She’s great, fighty, loud, supportive, all the good things. She’s also _really_ gay, so we hooked her up with _my_ soulmate.”

Quinn turns back with a quiet laugh, the dubious expression turned to delight, she sets herself carefully over his hand and begins with the colour.

“Does Caleb know you’re here?” she asks, and Molly shakes his head,

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I’m- ah. I’m from the carnival, so I’m leaving. And I don’t want to forget him.”

“Wild fling?”

“I love him.” It’s the second time he’s said it today, this time to a total stranger and he only just manages to stop the full body shudder. Don’t want to mess up the tattoo, now.  
Quinn gives a soft breath of laughter, shifts over his knuckle and chuckles again when Molly lets out a soft whimper. He has a high pain tolerance but- but- _bone_.

“I’m just old enough to remember the Widogasts.” Quinn says softly, everything is softly with Quinn. Even her touch is feather-light, “I was- oh. Thirteen, I think, I only really remember the sweet shop.”

“Sweet shop?” Molly asks, interested, “I’m not from around here, I don’t know the history.”

“Ah, well, before the fire, the Widogasts had a sweet shop on the corner of Albert Street. They always seemed to have the best sweets, they’d always give you a little extra, lord only knows how they stayed in business. Caleb was five years older than me, leaving school as I came in, a real sweetheart. Bit of a recluse, even then.”

“Some things never change, I suppose.” Molly smiles. Quinn has almost finished the blue, the yellow will come next and he’s getting impatient, wants to go home to Caleb.

“Even if the shop hadn’t been destroyed, I don’t think Caleb would have kept it up. Too much of his parents in it.”

“What happened, there?”

Quinn halts her speech as she turns to switch the colours out. When she turns back, she’s frowning a little,

“There was a fire, you know? The Widogasts lived above the store, and that’s what caught. Two kids managed to drag Caleb out, but his parents-” she lifts the tattoo gun, shakes her head, lowers it to the next flower, “- They didn’t make it. Ruled an accident, seems like Caleb’s never let go of it- y’can see him on the corner there, sometimes, just kind of… sitting.”

Molly is quiet.

“Are you nearly done?”

“Don’t rush perfection.” she says lightly, and he laughs a little. She does the same, “I’m almost done, yes. You know the colours will bleed a little?”  
“Not my first time at the rodeo, darling.” He smiles at her as she carefully colours the centre of the final forget-me-not.

“Good. Legally, I have to give you a leaflet on aftercare, so…” She pulls away and sets the tattoo gun back in place, “I’ll go get that with the dressing. Back in a second.”

Quinn flutters away, and Molly takes the time to study it.

It’s not as vibrant as Beau’s, and that makes sense. It’s harder to get the bright colours to show up in tattoos on darker skin, though soulmate marks never seem to listen to those rules- he’s had issues with his other floral designs, too, with artists far more experienced than Quinn. In places, the design and outline wobbles a little, and there are patches he thinks he may need to care more for as she hasn’t quite placed the ink deep enough, but overall… he thinks that she’s done well.

Quinn comes back, puts a little leaflet on the countertop by Molly’s hand, and sets the ointment down next to that.

“Paper or plastic?” she jokes, holding up the two types of protective dressing, and Molly gives a soft snort.

“Plastic. I want to show him when I get home.”

“Plastic it is.” she gets to work smoothing the jelly-like petroleum ointment over the tattoo, impressed to find that he winces only a tiny bit, “You said you’re from the carnival?”

“Born and raised.” He grins. It’s true.

“The one in Blackwater right now, yes? I haven’t been yet.”

“You should check it out! It’s very good.”

“Maybe I will.” She begins work on the wrapping, “It might be fun.”

 

Caleb is sitting at the window when Molly gets back, and he throws himself into Molly’s arms at the earliest opportunity- which happens to be just inside the door.

“I was worried.” He says into Molly’s shoulder, “I thought you may not come back. Nott said that Fjord dropped you off to pick up the car and that was an hour and a half ago and- Molly?”

Molly has winced as he knocks his hand on Caleb’s head and he pulls away, takes the wrapped hand gently,

“What is this?”

“I was late because I was getting a new tattoo.” Molly smiles, tries not to whine in pain with the position of Caleb’s grip. Caleb must notice, he shifts to hold Molly’s hand flat, studies the shapes and lets out a soft _oh_.

“I didn’t want to forget you.” Molly’s voice is quiet, “I remember when we first met- you asked for my hand, I told you I wasn’t yours and you-”  
“I said it was a shame.” Caleb’s voice is hushed. Molly nods, smiling,

“It might not be real, but it’s _you_.”

“Give me your other hand.” Caleb makes a grabby motion, and Molly obeys unthinkingly,

“What?”

“I can’t do this to the tattoo. It will hurt.” Caleb frowns, lifts Molly’s right hand, “But I want you to know that I would, if I could.”

It’s just a simple kiss to Molly’s knuckles, but it brings with it a wave of emotion that makes Molly’s knees near-buckle underneath him.

 _Nott_ is the one to dart over and put a steadying hand to his back, her hands are small and cold, he finds quickly as she sets her other hand to his bare arm.

“Where did you come from?” he huffs to her softly, and she grins,

“Main room. Can’t let you collapse, now, not after that.” she jerks her head at the hands that Caleb still has in his grasp. Caleb gives her a smile with an undertone that Molly doesn’t understand but appreciates all the same.

“There is no real time for a nap,” Caleb gives a soft sigh, “But I would like to spend some time just… watching some programs.”

“I haven’t seen _Home and Away_ yet today.” Nott chips gleefully, “I’ll put that on!” and her hand disappears from Molly’s back as she dashes back into the main room. Caleb and Molly are left, momentarily, alone in the hall.

Caleb steps in to Molly, settles his head on Molly’s shoulder and his arms loosely around his waist and just… stays there. It takes a split second for Molly to layer his arms lightly across Caleb’s shoulders and they stand, brief and calm in the quiet of it, before the theme tune plays from the main room and Nott calls them in.

 

They watch nonsense for the hour or so before Molly needs to leave again. They start out with Nott on the armchair, knees pulled to her chest, watching with rapt attention. Molly and Caleb twine together on the sofa and watch less intently, breaking every few minutes to turn and nuzzle one another’s hair, Molly kisses Caleb’s cheek once or twice.

After her program ends, though, Nott somehow ends up between them.

On her laptop typing away, but between them and caught up in the soft, shifting cuddle pile. Molly settles her chin on the top of her head and watches her type, curse, and re-type in notepad, trying her damndest to keep everything in order.

He sees flickering of text that he doesn’t have time to read much of before it’s moved again, she opens and closes the arguments with braces and Molly watches, enthralled.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m setting up a code for Fjord.”

Molly chuckles. He knows which one she’s talking about.

“But which _part_ of it?”

“Oh!” Nott displaces him with a shake of her head, excited, he sees her fingers flex, “Well, I wanted to repeat-send photos to his email contacts, but I’m trying to avoid sending the _same_ image to each contact. So I set it up to count the amount of times the code has run, and then transpose the image result choice it makes by that number, so there’s a new one each time, and each contact gets the next image along. Um- right now, I’m- just a second.”

She turns back to her laptop like a lightning bolt has struck her, types something quick and fast and Molly looks to Caleb, who shrugs. Nott turns back, grinning wildly at him.

“Right now, I’m trying to get it to cross-check whether it’s sent the image before based on the URL, but to do that it needs to keep a database of what images it’s sent to what address, and I have it set up to delete the copies from the sent emails and outbox so it can go undetected for longer. I’ll have to put up an external database for it to ping.”

Molly understood… none of that.

“So you can code a webpage?”

Nott pulls a face.

“I can’t use CSS for _shit_. I can barely use jquery. I’m okay in HTML, you need to be, but-” she looks at Molly’s expression, “-No. I can’t make pretty things, only functional things.”

“Aren’t you a programmer?”

“Programmer, not coder.” She tells him firmly, “They are _not_ the same thing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Molly smiles, kisses the top of her head, and settles his cheek there. A moment later, Caleb’s head bumps his as he leans against them and they all cuddle into a puddle to watch Nott work.

 

Jester catches Molly on his first round at the carnival.

“You got another tattoo!” is the first thing out of her mouth ten feet away. She’s clearly already in her carnival outfit, hiding it under a too-long sweater that, one, is almost certainly going to be glittery on the inside tomorrow, and two, _definitely_ belongs to Cali, trailing along behind her and waving shyly.

“I did.” Molly puffs proudly, already going for his tarot cards with his right hand, he holds his left out to her, “I wanted to get them. For him.”

She takes his hand gently and inspects with a grin, turns her face up to meet his with glimmering eyes.

“Molly, you have it _bad_.”

“I do.” He admits, shakes his head with a sigh, “Tarot reading, darling? You’re my lead-in for tonight.”

Jester takes it, Molly fakes it, Cali watches with wide eyes as he works and gasps when he finishes,

“That was _incredible_ , mister Mollymauk!” She tells him, one hand to her mouth, “Could you do me, next?”

Jester slyly forks over a five pound note and Molly turns fully to Cali with a wide beam,

“Of course!”

 

Molly ends up with Cali tailing him around the carnival and, as much as he thinks it would be annoying, she ends up being good company. Besides, it’s rare that Molly gets a chance to have a conversation about how lovely Jester is, how sweet and kind and understanding she can be, and Cali admits shyly to all of these thoughts and more.

By the time he delivers Cali to the tent for Jester’s act, he’s already worn out, and the tattoo is beginning to ache.

Gustav catches his arm on the way out.

“Molly.” He says, and his tone is serious and _oh no_.

“Gustav?”

“Come back to the trailer before you clock off? Just a few minutes. Promise me.”

“You’re scaring me.” Molly’s eyes are wide and concerned.

“It’s important, but not until then. Promise?” Gustav’s eyes lock to Molly’s hard and Molly shudders in concern,

“ _Ja_.” he answers without thinking, and corrects himself, “Yeah. Promise.”

“Good boy.” Gustav squeezes his arm and lets go, “The tattoo looks good.”

“Thank you.”

He lets Molly go without further interruption.

 

Molly finds it easy to compartmentalise his anxiety away. It’s easy to forget it whilst he moves and sways and charms, only remembers it when he tucks his cards away for the night and turns up toward the trailer.

Desmond and Gustav are sitting together when he comes in, and that’s concerning enough. Desmond likes his own space when he’s not stressed, when Gustav isn’t stressed, it’s only when one of them is upset that Desmond lets them in. They look up at him, as he enters.

“Molly,” Gustav says quietly, “It’s almost time to go.”

Molly’s heart stops beating in his chest.

“We’ve only been here two weeks.” He says, tries hard to get his heart to start again. It feels like a block of ice in his chest, spreading and freezing from the inside out. Gustav nods.

“We’re here until next Sunday.”

“ _Tomorrow?_ ” Molly gasps, horrified, and Gustav shakes his head and placates,

“Sunday after. It is Sunday. You have a week to sort everything out, Molly, do you need time off?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“You’re taking tonight. Sunday night.” Gustav frowns, “You’re giving him that much at least.”

“I’ll give him everything.” Molly promises, turning on his heel, “I’ll give him the _world_.”

“Molly?” Gustav calls, but Molly is too distant. He leaves, heads to the car, and begins to work on the flower crown without even thinking.

He checks the time on the little display. It’s only half past midnight, he has half an hour before he usually clocks off, that’s time enough to get this done.

He tears the little crystals from his hair and winds them in. Attaches more and more with copious amounts of tape and superglue and the lights are in place and the batteries are in and it’s three minutes until one in the morning when Molly lifts the still-drying crown up and, tentatively, flicks the switch on the lights.

It’s like a beacon.

Like a halo, the fairy lights glow from amongst the flowers and turn the yellow-white radiance to orange and pink, back-lights and shadows and _oh,_ it’s perfect.  
Molly sets it in front of the heater to dry and turns the temperature in the car up. The superglue is quick-drying, shouldn’t take more than the ten minute car journey and Molly pulls the car out of the Carnival with almost a smile on his face.

Got to go home.

Got to see Caleb.

Got to make him smile.

 

 

Caleb is shocked to see Molly pull up a full five minutes earlier that he usually would. He takes longer to get out, and is holding something in his newly tattooed hand when he comes up the steps.  
Caleb meets him in the hall, the same way he always does.

“Molly?”

Molly isn’t smiling. He looks sad, troubled, like he’s about to burst into tears and Caleb steps in to him.

“We- uh. We got a deadline. For when we need to leave.”

Caleb swallows around the lump in his throat. Molly has said they usually only stay a month or two, he’s been here two weeks that feel like forever and somehow it isn’t, will never be enough. Two months wouldn’t be enough. A year wouldn’t. The only thing that could ever come close is _forever_.

“How long?”

“We leave next Sunday.” Molly says, quiet, and Caleb’s world crashes down around him.

He stares at Molly, empty and hollow and aching and,  
  
“A week?”  
  
“Yeah. A week.” Molly watches as Caleb tears up and steps the short distance to him, cups his face with his free hand, and sets their foreheads together gently, “Gustav gave me tonight off. I’m yours, until Monday evening at least. Longer, if you need me to be. I can just tell Gustav…”

“I do not want the temporary, Mollymauk, I want _you_. Always.”

It comes out as a growl and Caleb feels Molly’s breath against his lips, hot and a little thick with distant tears. He sets his hands to Molly’s hips and pulls, as flush to him as he possibly can, grip bruising overtop of bruises and Molly’s breath stutters against him.

“I want you, too.” Molly breathes.

It’s the closest they’ve gotten to a confession, it’s the closest they will get, Molly can feel Caleb’s restraint in the tension of his jaw and the soft puff of his breath against his face.

There’s already close to no distance.

He could.

“I got you a gift.” Molly says without shifting, “I _made_ you a gift.”

“Does it mean that I will have to move?”

“Yes.” Molly is the one to do so, pauses before he draws back and kisses the tip of Caleb’s nose. He steps back to put a little distance between them, and lifts the flower crown.

In the darkness, it’s hard to see, and Caleb turns to flick the main light on to catch a view of it.  
It nearly floors him.  
The sunbursts of orange flowers and red and pink and Molly is staring at him like he’s waiting for something and-

“Oh.” Molly says gently, “Turn the light off again?”

Caleb does as he’s bidden, and Molly flicks the switch to light it up.  
Caleb restrains a gasp as the lights come on, flickering across the little crystals that Molly has wound along the loop, and slowly, Molly lifts it, sets it on Caleb’s head.

He looks stunning.

Lit from above like a halo, Caleb looks up at Molly with wide and reverent eyes and in return receives a soft, lilting sigh.

“ _Mein Engel._ ” Molly’s accent is terrible, his pronunciation not so much, he lifts a hand to Caleb’s cheek and Caleb presses into it.

“Your angel.” he agrees.

“Come on, _mein Engel_ ,” Molly smiles for his soft words, “Let’s go to bed.”

“Molly-” Caleb’s fists ball at his sides, he doesn’t need to touch Molly to get him to stop moving.

“Caleb?”  
  
“I- you- _ich liebe dich_.”

Molly isn’t a smart man. He doesn’t think he ever will be but he can extrapolate- _ich_ , I, personal and that’s the way he’s heard it from Nott’s lips too. _Dich,_ he’s had a little more trouble with but he thinks of the times that Nott has hissed it in front of him- _you_.

 _Liebe_ is worse. All that he has to go off of is _liebling_ , _darling_ , and like Tetris his mind tries synonyms until the right one fits like he didn’t already know.

He lets out a soft sigh.

“How do you say _too_ in German?” he asks softly, “Like, _us too_.”

“Ah- _auch_ , also, I- I don’t.”

“ _Ich liebe dich auch._ ”

Tears spring to Caleb’s eyes and he chokes off a delighted laugh,

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” is the first and only thing he can think to answer with and Molly’s face breaks into a grin.

“You- uh- you know what that means?”

“Nott does.” Caleb admits, “I did not look it up. I felt it was best to respect your privacy. I… took a guess.”

Molly leans in close.  
For a split second, Caleb thinks this is it.  
Their first kiss.  
And maybe Molly considers it but decides against, kisses the tip of his nose instead.

“We have a week with this information.” Molly says gently, “What do you want to do with it?”

“I want to go upstairs and cuddle and worry about the rest of it later.” Caleb tells him seriously, and Molly takes his hand gently,

“That can be done.”

They trail up, pausing in the bathroom for Molly to carefully peel off the covering of the tattoo and treat it, washing gently with lukewarm water and a light soap that Caleb manages to dig out of their little cupboard, unscented and gentle. Molly leans over to him as he rubs the back of his own hand gently, plants a soft kiss to Caleb’s jaw.  
He shaved, earlier, his skin is smooth to the touch of Molly’s lips and he smells nice.  
He always smells nice. Books and paper and ballpoint pens and leaf litter, the street in summer after a storm.

“Focus on your tattoo, _mein Engel_.” Caleb murmurs when Molly’s kiss lingers. Molly chuckles against his skin and straightens up with a smile, goes back to rinsing and gently patting his skin dry.

“Do you need more dressing?”

“No, no. I just need-” Molly shoves his hand into his inner pocket to find his little pot of vaseline, “-to let it breathe, put some of this on it to help re-moisturise the skin.”

“You know so much.” Caleb murmurs, tone almost awed, and Molly chuckles,

“Not as much as you, my darling. This is just routine.”

“I would not know what to do.” Caleb comes to set his chin on Molly’s shoulder, wind his arms around his waist. Molly tilts his head to brush against Caleb’s hair, smoothing vaseline over the lines and colour.

When he finishes, they finally trawl up to bed, and Caleb watches as Molly sheds his clothes as easily as breathing.  
He takes more time, his insecurities not over though he knows that Molly doesn’t mind, every further inch of scar tissue, he flinches and Molly comes over with his blanket around his shoulders to kiss gently across his neck, down his back, over his shoulder blades.  
Caleb takes the flower crown off, carefully, turns the lights off and sets it down on the desk.

“My angel.” Molly murmurs, presses a kiss to the flat of Caleb’s scarred shoulder blade. Caleb smiles.

He may not be able to believe it, but his heart aches with the affection anyway.

“Burrito Molly?” Molly asks gently as Caleb trails to the bed, steps his way out of his pooled dress pants.

“No.” Caleb says gently, “It is not necessary. If you want- I like Burrito Molly as much as my regular Molly.”

“Burrito Molly ends up regular Molly by the morning anyway.” Molly chuckles, Caleb climbs under the covers and Molly follows, climbs over him so his left hand is on top, blanket around his shoulders but loose, not wrapped tight.

Caleb slips a hand to the skin of his waist, makes Molly sigh happily and press into him.  
The rest of the night is full of sleepy exploration, of Molly running his fingertips along Caleb’s scars, along his hip and down past the trail he’s kissed to Caleb’s thighs. A rhythm against the dip of his hip bone. Caleb glances his fingers over the raised lines of Molly’s scars, too, to _I’m not real_ and sets his hand flat over that.

“ _Mein_.” Molly hears him murmur, and kisses sleepily at his throat.

“Yours.” He echoes, with the last of his consciousness. “Always.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord is a rubber duck, time passes too fast.

They wake at a decent time, neither early nor late, cuddled still together with the soft, smooth sensation of skin-on-skin and Caleb’s lips against Molly’s collarbone.

There’s a bittersweet feeling to the air as they let themselves come to consciousness, breathing the scent of sweat from a night twined together overtop of lavender, ink, and paper.  
Caleb feels Molly shift to twine their legs together and smiles, tired and loving. He strokes a hand best he can through Molly’s hair, slow and careful, taking out the tangles a little bit at a time.  
He knows that Molly is awake by the shifting and the pace of his breathing, but neither say anything, content to let the quiet trickle over until one or both of them becomes impatient.

It takes longer than Molly expects for Caleb’s hands to start shifting away, running along the curve of his spine and brushing over to map out the way it causes a dip at the small of his back.

“You like to touch things a _lot_ , hm?” Molly chuckles above Caleb’s head as he shifts to smooth his hands down the backs of Molly’s legs. He’s settled low enough against Molly that he can cup around halfway down the back of his thigh and pull and shift him closer.

“Now this has been nice.” Molly murmurs, sweeping patterns on the scar tissue of Caleb’s shoulder, “But I need to go sort out my tattoo.”  
Caleb sighs softly, disappointedly, but relents,

“Do you want me to let go?”

“For now, my darling. Yes, please.”

Caleb untangles himself and lets Molly sit up and stretch, popping his shoulder where it aches and sweeping the trails of lavender curls over his shoulder to his back. And Caleb watches in awe at the way the misty morning light still colours Molly’s skin gold and highlights each of the tattoos on his shoulders and face.

“You are stunning, Mollymauk.” He tells him, because he doesn’t feel the need to be quiet any more. Molly smiles and curves down, angelic in the light, to kiss Caleb’s cheek.

“And you’re a sweetheart.”

 

Molly pulls his pyjamas on to plod around the house. Nott catches him coming out of the bathroom as she comes out of her bedroom, already-wild hair somehow even messier and squinting in the morning light.

“Ngh. Mornin’, Moll. Sleep well?”

“Yeah, pretty good. You?”

“Jester woke me up middle of the fuckin’ night callin’ me. You’re leaving, then?”

She plods past him and goes for the toothpaste.

“Yeah. Sunday.”

“Not thought about staying? For him?” her eyes are half-closed but her brain is not, Molly can see her watching him out of the corner of her eye. He sighs,

“I have. I can’t leave my family. I can’t leave Jester.”

“Did you know Cali is going with her?” Nott’s voice is muffled by the toothbrush she has jammed in her mouth now, “They’re staying together.”

Molly laughs softly. Gladly. Jester deserves it.

“I’m glad she’s getting what her heart wants.”

Nott doesn’t use her words to reply, just makes a _shoo_ motion in the direction of Caleb’s bedroom and grins when Molly leaves.

 

Caleb has, unfortunately, put clothes on when Molly arrives back in his room and pushes him back to the bed to curl up on him. Caleb’s soft chuckles fill the room as Molly curves into a ball, head on his chest and one leg drawn up, the other flung over Caleb.  
Caleb curls his arms around him and smiles, cuddles him close.

He tries deliberately not to think about how acutely this loss will ache. How empty his bed will feel after only a week- soon two- with Molly in it every night.   
He tries _so hard_ not to think about the idea of never being able to run his fingertips over Molly’s scars, the dip of his spine, his hair. Or about how he’ll never get to kiss Molly’s throat, shoulders, collarbone again.  
He tries not to think about that.

And he fails.

“Molly,” he swears his voice isn’t choked, “Would you-”

He tugs gently at the shoulder of Molly’s shirt until he straightens out to eye level and Caleb cups his cheek near-immediately, his touch drawing and magnetic, Molly comes pliant against his fingertips to rest their foreheads together.  
Caleb strokes Molly’s cheekbone back and forth with his thumb, doesn’t even register as they synchronise each breath they take. They keep the searching eye contact at first, and it doesn’t feel odd, or uncomfortable to Caleb- it just feels _nice_. Like Molly is stripping him open and caressing the mess he finds inside with feather-light fingers.

They let their eyes slip closed, eventually, not to sleep but to calm and just _be_ , twined along one another, each rubbing light rhythms to the other’s skin.

When Caleb starts to shake with restrained sobs, Molly pulls him close and tilts his head up, kisses away his tears as they come and makes Caleb warble with watery laughter. It can’t stop the tears, he still cries, but he laughs as he does and Molly doesn’t let up, swipes at one eye with his thumb and kisses at the other when the tears come too thick for him to kiss both.

“It’s alright.” Molly murmurs between kisses, “It’s alright.”

“It is _not_.” Caleb insists, and Molly’s soothing only grows louder.

“It’s as close to as it’s going to get, my darling, my love. It’s almost alright.”

“Molly- I want- I want-”

 _‘I want you to kiss me.’_ Caleb’s head calls. Caleb’s mouth won’t speak.

“Hush, my heart.” Molly strokes hair back from his face so lightly, criminal, Caleb thinks. “Take a moment. Breathe. And then tell me what you want.”

Caleb takes a deep, shuddering breath. Molly starts, the same as Yasha had with him, a rhythmic pattern of in-hold-out. Slowly, Caleb grows to match it.

“What do you want?” Molly asks, but the nerve that Caleb had amassed from his tears and sadness has faded, and he can’t ask something he doesn’t deserve anymore.

“ _You_.” Is what comes out, and he doesn’t deserve that either, but Molly smiles anyway.

“Me or you on top?” Molly asks, gently smooths circles with his thumb into Caleb’s temple.

“You.” Caleb answers again, and Molly sighs gently through his smile.

“A moment.”

And he sits, first, upright. He pushes Caleb’s shoulder until he lays flat on his back, and swings a leg over to straddle his hips.

“I always like this.” Caleb’s tears have boiled to sniffles, he sets both of his hands at Molly’s hips and smiles up at him whilst he pauses, stretches to pop his back by curving into almost a c-shape crescent and making Caleb’s mouth drop open at his flexibility.

And then he comes forward, lays flat across Caleb’s body and stretches out to twine their legs together. He shifts one arm under his chin on Caleb’s chest, the other up to thread through Caleb’s hair.

“This okay?”

“Perfect.” Caleb murmurs, “This is perfect. Thank you, Molly.”

“Of course, _m’eudail_.” Molly smiles and pauses to kiss Caleb’s chest through his shirt, “ _Tha gaol agam ort_.”

He feels arms coil over his back and press him harder into Caleb, he feels the ridges of Caleb’s hip bones in the soft of his stomach and smiles that ridiculous, love-dazed smile that is becoming all-too familiar and will be gone too soon but it doesn’t matter.  
Because Caleb is here, under his body, pressing against him and staring up with such reverent affection that Molly thinks he might burst. It’s not enough, not enough, he can’t possibly comprehend how he might make it enough- it could never be but oh.

Oh Gods above.

It’s perfect as it is. Caleb is perfect as he is.

Everything is wonderful.

 

  
It’s nearing midday when they get up at last, gloop their way down the stairs all liquid and close and, as Nott tells them when they come into the main room, disgustingly sweet. She’s on video chat with Fjord as they slop onto the sofa together, arms around one another and indistinguishable end-beginning. Caleb, on the top, looks over to find Fjord smiling, a glint to his eye in the screen of the tablet setup. Nott’s expression is determination as she patters on her laptop, there’s the harsh click of her deleting something before it goes back to the rhythm.

“Y’lookin’ happy there, Molly, Caleb. How’s it goin’?”

“Fighting off bad thoughts, Fjord, dear, how about you?” Molly replies, Caleb’s mouth too preoccupied with scattering kisses across the exposed skin of Molly’s shoulder. He notices, as he does, that Molly _isn’t binding_. It’s unusual, he wears his binder around Nott most other times and as he thinks it, it occurs to him that he’d done the same earlier.  
Fjord laughs from the tablet.

“Helpin’ Nott figure out her code. Bein’ the rubber duck.”

“I broke mine.” Nott flashes them both a sharp grin and Caleb chuckles against Molly.

“Do not break that one, _ja_?”

“I won’t.” she promises, “Go back to being gross.”

Caleb does, lowers back down to trail his kisses from Molly’s shoulder up the side of his neck. Molly shakes with silent giggles under him,

“When we met,” He sighs, slipping a hand up and into Caleb’s hair, “I never would have picked you for this kind of person.”

“What kind of person is that?” Caleb asks, nuzzles closer, the cold tip of his nose pressing into the angle of Molly’s jaw.

“An affectionate one.” Molly smiles, “One that kisses people’s necks like it’s nothing.”

“ _Nein_ ,” Caleb frowns and kisses there, over the cold spot made by his nose, “Not _people_. Just you. Only you.”

Molly is so stunned that he freezes for a moment, and Caleb lifts up to check his face carefully. In Nott’s chair, she begins to explain to Fjord what’s happening in her code, explains each bracket- it makes perfect background to cover them.

“Molly?” Caleb asks gently, “Is that okay?”

“I- why? Would you?” Molly frowns, and it’s aching how much like that first night it is, “Why me? There’s- so many better choices. Literally anyone around here. Anyone that won’t leave you. Anyone.”

“Molly, _Schatz,_ I do not _want_ anyone else. I could not tell you why. It just _is_ \- could you tell me why you would want this with me?”

Molly pauses.  
He has an answer. He does.

 _Because I fell in love with you the moment I scared you in the library_. Is not a good or acceptable answer.   
_Because you are the first person I have ever wholly trusted._ Is not a good, or acceptable answer.  
Because _I am in love with you._  
_Because I love you.  
Because-_

“No.” Molly lies. Caleb sighs as he presses back down against him.

“Then you understand.”

Molly loops his arms tighter around Caleb’s back and doesn’t answer.

 

  
Nott breaks for lunch an hour later, sighs and rubs her eyes and invites Fjord over, then leaves the house to go to one of the take-out places for fish and chips.  
Molly and Caleb sit up and separate comfortably, still sat shoulder-to-shoulder in friendly silence. Caleb scuffles over the edge to pull out a book, begins to read, and hands Molly his phone so that he can text Jester.

He gets halfway through when he finds himself distracted watching Caleb’s hands carefully. He’s stripped the polish from his nails, leaving only the traces of the pretty gold-brown that he seems to favour, coloured into his cuticles. Molly studies each tendon and raise and bump and scar of his hands and sighs softly, affectionately- it isn’t fair that Caleb is this pretty. It just.

None of it is fair.

“Everything alright, _Schatz_?” Caleb asks, and Molly smiles a little,

“No less than usual.” He tilts to kiss Caleb’s cheek, and then they settle back down to what they were doing until Nott comes back with Fjord and two big bags of chips.

Fjord settles himself on the floor by Nott’s chair and they share out the chips to eat, intermittently, Molly and Caleb pause to nudge one another or press a kiss to one another’s cheeks. Nott, occasionally, makes a soft gagging noise but through a smile. Molly doesn’t have to ask to know she’s just happy that Caleb is happy.

 

 

The rest of the week goes much of the same way. Molly goes back to work on the evening of the Monday, comes home to strip and twine with Caleb in bed, wakes up Tuesday morning to Caleb clambering over him to go to work. He presses a kiss to the nape of Caleb’s neck before he pulls his shirt on, turns back to bed, and goes to sleep again. Caleb strokes the hair from his peaceful, sleeping face and kisses his temple and aches.

 

 

Yasha turns up at Caleb’s house on Tuesday.

Caleb is at work, Nott is at college, Molly is home alone and he opens the door to her dressed in his sleeping shorts and one of Caleb’s big sweaters and she stares with wide eyes.

“That’s gay.” she tells him.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Beau.” he replies, and steps aside to let her in.

 

They come to the main room, quiet, and Molly curls back up on the sofa as she sits in Nott’s armchair.  
They don’t talk for a few minutes, watching the television, whatever kids show Molly has on- _Steven Universe_ , specifically, an episode he’s seen a thousand times but the whole series is something of a comfort blanket to him now.

“Molly?” Yasha breaks the glass-fragile silence, and Molly worries his lip,

“Yasha?”

“Do you remember- the crystal ball-?”

“I remember it _very_ well.” Molly tries to keep the storm out of his voice. He doesn’t like to remember it.

“Molly can- I don’t- fuck.” Yasha curses and frowns and Molly looks over to find her fists balled, “I am not someone who _speaks well_ or is good at asking- but- fuck- shit-”

Molly feels a dawning, dreadful sense of realisation wash over him.  
Yasha looks on the borderline of tears, right hand in her hair and lavender bright on her wrist as she tries to find the words.  
And Molly slowly begins to comprehend,

“Yasha,” He says slowly, “Would you come with me? When I leave? Come with the carnival?”

He was never going to ask her selfishly. Or perhaps it still is.  
But Yasha can’t ask. Can’t make the words or find the nerve and this is Molly asking for her.  
He was always going to ask her to leave, but not for any of the reasons he had originally thought.  
Yasha looks up with wide eyes and mouth ajar and,

“I- yes. I want to. I have wanted to. Is that- okay?”

“You might need to sleep in your car until we can get a new trailer.” Molly admits, “But- I think Gustav would appreciate your presence. You’re strong. And calming. But- what about Beau?”

Yasha averts her eyes,

“I would ruin things with her eventually anyway.” She says quietly, “This way is less painful.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Molly presses his face into his hands, “We’re both losing Caleb. And Nott. Can you do that to them?”

“Can you?” Yasha’s tone has changed and she tilts her head at him when he lifts his eyes.

“I have to.” He answers firmly, “I was never meant to stay.”

They’re silent for a while more, the show chirps on in the background.

“I’ll- I’ll get Jester to tell Gustav, when Caleb gets back. I think I should do it.” the last is tacked on as Yasha’s hands twitch for her phone. Yasha nods.

“I should- um. I should go, I’m on lunch- I’ll see you soon, Molly.”

“See you around, Yash.” he waves her out, hears the door click closed, and bursts into tears.

He curls up against himself and cries and wails and doesn’t bother to be quiet, _fuck_ the neighbours, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and even here, in his home, with the ink-and-paper scent of Caleb all around him…  
He feels so _alone_.  
He sobs. He hiccups. And he cries himself to sleep.

 

Caleb finds him curled there with his shirt still slightly damp from tears and spends a second in shocked, horrified quiet standing over him. When his eyes flicker open in the shadow, Caleb lowers himself to his knees in front of him.

“Caleb.” Molly beams, and Caleb leans in to kiss his forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up. Come cuddle.” He scooches aside, Caleb climbs up beside him, and the routine continues.

 

 

It seems that Sunday comes too soon.

Far too soon.

With all the time that Caleb and Molly have spent entwined, it doesn’t feel real to wake up the morning that he’s due to leave. They go about their day as usual, except that Molly packs away all of the things he’s taking away with him, dumps his bag by the door, and pins Caleb to the wall with the knowledge that it would be so easy to kiss him right now.  
It would be so easy to press his lips to Caleb’s and feel the softness and sadness of his not-quite-boyfriend on his tongue, but instead, he pins him, and then collapses in and winds his arms around Caleb’s neck and doesn’t cry even one little bit.  
Caleb’s arms lock at the base of his spine and they stand against the cold wall and the warm brown with Nott peeking from the main room.

“Come here, _Liebling_.” Caleb offers an arm to her, Molly peels away to do the same, and she comes to them and puts an arm around each of them and the three pull close. Not crying.

Not even a little bit.  
It’s not crying, Molly says to himself as the first teardrop rolls down his nose, curves to the tip, glimmering, and falls, falls to hit the void of carpet in the centre of them.  
It’s not crying, he insists, as Nott screws her eyes closed and the tears on both of her cheeks race to see which is faster, collecting at the underside of her chin and drawing as they meld together and fall.  
It’s _not_ crying, Molly is determined, as tears catch at the twisted corners of Caleb’s lips, spread harsh and wide across his face as he wills himself not to break in their arms and fights the roll of each new burning droplet.

It’s not crying, but it’s weeping, and when Molly lets go of his control, Nott and Caleb do too. They weep together, damp and gasping for air and pulled tight, arms around one another in a barrier against a world that can be nothing but cruel.

 

 

Molly doesn’t even find himself surprised when Fjord, Beau, and Yasha turn up, isn’t shocked when they end up in a big pile on the floor, Yasha at the base with Caleb, Nott, and Beau curled in her arms, Molly at one shoulder and Fjord splayed across all of their legs.  
If any of them could sleep, they think they would. It feels empty without Jester here, she’s with Cali, she’ll see them when they all say goodbye.

“I will miss you.” Molly hears Caleb say, as he reaches up to stroke Yasha’s hair out of her face. Beau cuddles closer to her as he does, presses her face to Yasha’s shoulder and shivers when Yasha’s arm pulls tighter around her.

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Don’t go.” Beau murmurs, “Don’t fuckin’ leave me. Don’t-”

“I’m sorry, Beau.” Yasha reaches to Beau and tilts her chin up as best she can so that she can lean over and kiss her. Molly stands and leaves the room wordlessly, and Caleb notices but can’t bring himself to move.

Yasha has been a rock to him for years. It was her that found Nott on the streets, it was Yasha that brought Nott to him, Yasha that had saved him when everything turned to ash at his fingertips.  
He doesn’t want her to go.  
But he doesn’t want Molly to go either, knows he needs to, and is bitterly glad that he’s in such good hands.

Molly comes back and leans over.

“Beau Beauregard.”

She opens her eyes as Yasha pulls back from the kiss and snatches the tissue from Molly’s offered fingertips.

“Fuck you, Molly.”

There’s a pause and Molly smiles a little.

“I love you too, Beau.”

Beau chokes a sob, and says, more forceful,

“ _Fuck_ you, _Molly_.”

“Fuck you, Beau.” He gives in to her, and she leans back into Yasha with the tissue pressed to her eyes and soaking up her running, smudged eyeliner.

 

 

They leave in the evening.

Molly could say it isn’t a fanfare ado, but with a crowd around him and Yasha’s car pulled up alongside Gustav’s, it is.  
He’s riding with her tonight. Staying with her tonight.  
It’ll be his first night in his own bed in two weeks. First night without Caleb.

He sees Caleb here in the evening sunlight and feels his heart shake and shatter all at once. He’s lit gold, hair wreathed in the radiant fire of sunset and blue eyes glimmering with sunlight and Molly feels, in his heart, he will never fall in love again. Caleb has ruined him and made him whole, and he didn’t even get to kiss him.  
He still could, he thinks, as he steps away, runs away from the car up to Caleb on the embankment and throws himself into Caleb’s arms.

Where has the day gone?

Molly had woken up in Caleb’s arms and as soon as he’d blinked he was here and Caleb crushes and cries into his shoulder. And Molly cries, too, presses his face to the crook of Caleb’s neck and kisses and sobs and Gustav is shouting to him that they need to leave.   
The beginning of the carnival convoy is already pulling away.

“Caleb.” Molly chokes against Caleb’s skin, “I- I love you.”

 

Like a photograph.

 

An intimacy in stillness.

 

Everything pauses around them, all of the shouting and cheering and sobbing, all of the sunlight and the breeze and the few stray plum-blossom petals from the copse of pink trees on the edge of the cliff above them, it all flash-freezes in the second their eyes meet, Molly peeling away to study Caleb’s reaction, Caleb’s arms still around him, heels of his hands against Molly’s spine.  
Caleb’s eyes are wide and wet and as blue as the midday skies have been, Molly could fall into them, could fall forever, could and has and always will fall in love.

 

It’s like a photograph.

 

A moment in time, captured.

 

But it can’t be held.

 

“Molly!” Gustav calls, “We need to leave, _now_.”

  
“I love you.” Molly sobs and jitters, “ _I love you so much_.”

He steps backwards and there’s hands on his shoulders pulling him gently, his hands trail through Caleb’s,

“I love you, Caleb. I love you.”

Just his fingertips and he holds on and Caleb leans for him, too, held back by Beau and Fjord, sobbing along with them.

“I love you too.” Caleb chokes after him, and his fingers slip from Molly’s.

 

 

Molly thinks that Yasha must carry him to the car after that.  
He doesn’t remember thinking for a while.

When he comes to, he’s in the front seat of her car, slouched against the window and crying. There’s tissue clenched in his fist, and Yasha’s mismatched eyes are on the road, mascara tracks down her cheeks.  
They’re almost at the motorway, by the signs Molly sees, lit up in the darkness by the headlights of the convoy, and Caleb is gone behind them.

“This isn’t okay.” Molly chokes, “I’m not okay. Yasha, I’m _not_ okay, I’m _not-_ ”

“I can’t pull over.” Her voice is thick and deliberately steady, “Gustav says we’re stopping at Scotch Corner tonight. That’s a half-hour drive.” She blinks tears away, “Think you’ll still be not okay then?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.” Molly sobs to her. Her grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckle, her jaw twitches with the tension.

“I know. It’s not okay.”

 

Molly scoots as far away from Yasha on the bed as he can. He doesn’t mind having her here whilst he isn’t binding, but she isn’t Caleb.

 

He sleeps.

He dreams of Caleb.

He dreams of ink-smell and paper, books piled high and well-read. He dreams of _The Runaway Rainbow_ and the inflatable bed and the taste of Caleb’s skin under his lips, the sensation of his scars, the feeling of skin pressed to skin and hard, damp with sweat from the nightmares and curled in.   
He dreams of Caleb’s hands in his hair and on his face and hips and dancing with him, around rooms, around the stars.  
He dreams. And he aches. And he wants.

And he wakes up crying silently into his hand at Yasha’s back, trying not to wake her and _succeeding_ in a way he never did with Caleb.  
He wants Caleb

He just wants Caleb.

 

How could the world be so cruel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calling the author an asshole and quoting the most painful parts of the fic validates him more than you ever know.  
> Call me an asshole.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ _But if you loved me,_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqJoVlnmdFQ)   
>  [ _Why'd you leave me?_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqJoVlnmdFQ)   
>  [ _Take my body,_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqJoVlnmdFQ)   
>  [ _Take my body._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqJoVlnmdFQ)

Molly had forgotten how hard it had been to sleep without Caleb. He closes his eyes and feels as though he’s suffocating again, like the world is being pushed in and closed around him. He opens them and he’s alone and gasping for air like he hasn’t breathed for an hour.

He measures each inhale and exhale, careful, quiets them down so that he doesn’t wake Yasha. Yasha, his soulmate, a shadow at his side and a comfort despite everything.   
He can’t cuddle up to Yasha like he did with Caleb, he can’t press into her.

Yasha isn’t Caleb. He won’t, he can’t press kisses to her like he did with Caleb.

She isn’t Caleb.

 _Fuck_ , he hadn’t thought about how much this would hurt.

He pulls his sleeping shirt up to his nose, the smell of ink and paper lingers, and it’s that if nothing else that helps him to slip away uneasily, curled into fetal position with tears still running down his cheeks.

 

 

Molly wishes that he could say it changed.

That it got better after the first night.

After the first week.

After the first month.

It didn’t.

 

 

All that has changed is that Yasha wakes up, now. She knows when he’s crying and breathes with him, they sleep shoulder-to-shoulder because Molly can’t bring himself to cuddle her the way he cuddled Caleb.  
The scent of Caleb’s house is gone from Molly’s shirt, has almost faded even from his binders, just as the colour has washed from his hair. Yasha tries to persuade him to let her dye it for him. Ornna comes over and pushes him into the bathroom, does it by force but he doesn’t resist, doesn’t fight, he doesn’t have the energy to.

They’ve stopped in a new town, about two nights away from Blackwater and Bleakburn, toward the coastal west of Scotland.

 

It doesn’t matter how many flyers he hands out.

It doesn’t matter how many children he makes smile.

It doesn’t matter how many readings he does, people he sees, friends he could make- it feels empty to Molly. _He_ feels empty. He has his family and nothing else.

Even Gustav can’t get through to him.

 _  
‘Here lies Mollymauk Tealeaf,’ _ he scrawls idly on a post-it note, _‘Long may he reign.’_

  
  


Caleb isn’t holding up much better.

Nott comes to him with a little brown letter, a little more a week after Molly leaves.

“Caleb?” she says and her voice shakes.

“What could _possibly_ get worse?” he spits, and she holds the letter out. It’s torn at the top, Nott reads all of his mail, he prefers it that way. She filters out the shit he doesn’t need, and she likes to be… inquisitive, as she puts it.

 

_Dear Mr. Widogast,_

 

_We regret to inform you that-_

 

Caleb stops reading there and looks away to take a deep, deep breath. His hands shake, the paper rattles in them like the thoughts do in his brain and he tries twice to speak before he swallows and can get the words past the fear in his throat,

“Nott?” He asks her, as lightly as he can, “Would you make a cup of tea?”

She nods, eyes wide and worrying her lip, dashes off into the kitchen.   
There’s the clinkling sound of the sugar jar being pulled down, teabag taken from the box, the kettle rumbles and hisses as it boils. Nott dips back and forth in the kitchen, two cups, two spoons, careful and measured. 

Caleb picks the letter back up,

 

 _We regret to inform you that your workplace,_ **_Bleakburn Library_ ** _, will be closing down within the next two weeks as part of a budget cut across the region and county._

_This budget cut comes as a followup of the April referendum, during which it was decided by popular vote that public services across Bleakburn and Blackwater should be rescinded due to a lack of funding. The funding used previously for these projects will be placed into other projects with a higher success rate._

 

Caleb grits his teeth. _What_ fucking referendum? The one that they’d given them a week’s notice for? The one he’d been too busy _working at a public service_ to go and vote in?   
Stupid fucking politicians and their bullshit excuses.

There’s still a bit of the letter to go,

 

 _You will be paid for all scheduled workdays for the remainder of the month, but the final date of shift work is_ **_July 5th_ ** _, after which, council officials will take over the packaging and shipment of remaining merchandise._

_We apologise for the inconvenience this may cause, and wish you luck in your future._

_Signed,_

_Karen Wilson_

_Governor of Public Services in Bleakburn_

 

There’s a signature too. Caleb can’t cry any more than he already has this week, but he crumples the letter in his fist and pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes. He lets out a sigh so heavy that Nott hears it in the kitchen, over the tinkling of the spoon against the side of the cup. She sighs too, taps the spoon and turns to put it in the sink before she calls through,

“You’ve read it?”

“ _Ja_.” He replies, uncrumples it from his hand so that he can fold it up neatly and puts it aside, “We will have to move, you know. A smaller place. Less rent. We cannot afford this, any more. We do not need it, not really- just-”

“Okay.” Nott nods as she comes in, cup of tea in her hand, a coffee for herself in the other. She hands Caleb’s tea over, “As long as we’re together. It’s fine, right?”

“ _Ja_.” He agrees. They will have to downsize. They will have to get rid of a lot of things. Caleb will have to leave his history behind, this house is a street away from the corner he’d lived on once. He won’t be able to go there in the middle of the night, anymore. Caleb covers his eyes with one hand and takes a soft shaking breath, “We will need to get our suitcases from the attic this afternoon. We can take only what we can fit in those.”

Nott’s shoulders drop sadly, but she nods. Caleb doesn’t doubt that she’s thinking of all of her little collections, her handful of books on coding and technology, all of her little crystals and gemstones, the things she’ll need to leave behind or get rid of.

“I’ll go get the ladders down.” She says quietly, sets her cup on the table and turns to the door.

“Not yet.” Caleb stops her before she can leave, “I- Nott-”

He doesn’t need to say anything else to her.  
She picks the cup back up, and comes and sits beside him with her head on his shoulder, sadly sipping her coffee through a purple straw.

  


Fjord comes over that afternoon, Beau in tow. Hey eyes are dark, blue-purple bags heavy under them from crying and lack of sleep and all of the back-to-back shifts she’s been insisting on pulling just to scrape together what she can. Dairon, she knows, is not a fan of it.  
Dairon, she knows, does not have a choice.

She sticks with Fjord, and they manage to arrive right as Caleb is standing in the garden out front with the representative from the estate agent hammering the little _for sale_ sign into the earth.  
Turns out that being vaguely famous for tragic history in this town gets you places, Caleb has found, as they expedited the process to put him immediately on the market, even as they work through the paperwork.

Beau looks at the sign with a frown,

“You’re movin’?”

“Not far.” Caleb pushes his face into his hands, “I- ah. I lost my job. The library is closing down.”

“Hey, snap!” Beau’s grin is wide and fake and she holds her hand out for a fist bump that Caleb doesn’t give, “My fuckin’ father’s cut off all support, so now I can’t afford to make my rent. Took out my card, can’t even get at my wages. Dairon’s payin’ into another account now but- I had savings, man.”

“Come inside.” Caeb gives in answer, and the group collects in the house instead, Nott has already made tea when they get in, three cups on the table lightly steaming.

“Thanks, Nott.” Fjord mumbles as he sits on the floor and pulls his mug in.

“No problem.”

“So.” Beau sighs, “What’re we going to do?”

 

Beau, it turns out, is moving in with Fjord whilst she works on getting somewhere new to live.

“Room for you, too, if y’ need it in a pinch.” Fjord tells Caleb and Nott, as he braids through Caleb’s hair. He’d do it to Nott, if her hair would take it, but he’s not that skilled, not that knowledgeable, he’s made a note to look up styles he can do and learn for her hair type but, for now. Caleb is his victim.

And Caleb sighs gently,

“I appreciate the offer. _We_ appreciate the offer. If we need- if it becomes a necessity, we will ask then but- I would prefer that we try not to lean too heavily. We all are fragile, after-”

His voice cuts out, his mouth snaps deliberately shut on his words.  
_After Molly. After Yasha. After the Carnival._ _  
_ He says none of that. Beau’s ice-blue eyes are stormy and locked on the floor between her knees.

“After they left us.” she chips in bitterly, and Caleb gives another sigh, the auditory equivalent of a nod.

“ _Ja_.” He agrees, “After we have been left behind.”

Fjord makes a noise of soft support and ties off the braid that he’s been working on, moves to the next one.  
Nott is upstairs in the attic, hauling down their suitcases.

Their lives fall apart at their fingertips.

  


“Molly,” Yasha shoves his shoulder gently, “Focus.”

Molly sighs as he sets the cards down.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I understand.”

Molly has Sundays off, now. There’s no point in trying to get him to work through the depression that settles over him every week at the memory of Caleb, the one that darkens the bags under his eyes so heavily that they may be black instead of the blue-purple they usually are.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” Molly tucks the cards carefully away with a quick mental apology, “I want to play a game, or something. My playing cards- they’re in my top drawer.”

Yasha leans over to take them out and deals, she doesn’t need to ask to know that he wants to play Go Fish, the easiest, least brain-intensive game they could possibly play, aside from possibly Blackjack.   
Molly isn’t great at numbers, though.

Go Fish is easier.

And it helps that he’s aggressively competitive, just as Beau had been, cawing with pride when he wins and Yasha laughs for him despite the way that his triumphant fist pump shows her only Beau, alone, at home, without her.

 

In the silence that follows, Molly finds himself missing Caleb’s laugh.

The choked stutter of breath, the full chuckle, and the way that he would shake under Molly’s body and fingers and attention.

 

“I miss Caleb.” he says softly.

“I know you do.” Yasha replies, and when he buries his face in his hands and begins to cry, she stands silently and leaves him there to sob.

Practiced movements, she heads into the kitchen and opens the tea cupboard. It’s a far harder choice to pick one for herself than for Molly, she likes so many of the kinds that are here. Molly prefers the calming, and Yasha decides to go on the flip side, picks a revitalising, tangy flavour. She picks, for herself, echinacea and raspberry, doesn’t bother to add honey because she doesn’t like it sweet anyway. And then to Molly’s cup, she puts the teabag in with a smile. The bags are handmade by him, he knows exactly what he wants, two vanilla pods and lavender to fill and she pours the water over carefully. She drizzles in a teaspoon of honey and stirs the spoon to clear it off, scoops the teabag out and squeezes it gently over the cup. She puts the whole cup under the tap and trickles cold water through the teabag to cool the tea.

She picks the cups up and takes them through, Molly has stopped crying when she enters.  
Molly isn’t familiar with Yasha’s tea blend, but he knows his. The lavender and vanilla has been his favourite for months, he’d even managed to get Caleb to take some of his own, handmade teabags, an attempt to battle away his insomnia after Molly left.   
Either way, the tea smells nice and fills his room with the blend of tangy, revitalising fruit and the odd, damp smell of lavender-vanilla. 

“Thank you.” He says quietly as he stands and takes his cup from her, sips and finds his frayed, raw nerves instantly soothed, like a salve.

Molly pulls himself up to his desk and takes a pen, paper, sets it down and scrawls.

 

_Dear Caleb,_

 

_I’m sure I could ask Jester to let me text you. I could ask Yasha to call you._

_I can’t do either of those things. Snail mail it is._

 

_I had so many sweet things to say when I first started writing, but none of them mean enough without you in front of me. None of them are good enough to stretch this distance._

_You can’t even mail me back, we don’t have an address and they don’t deliver to trailers._

_How cruel the world is, hm?_

 

He pauses there and sips and ignores the blot of running ink where he’s let a teardrop fall over Caleb’s name.

 

_I love you. I think I always will._

_Forever yours,_

_Mollymauk Tealeaf_

_(Molly to my friends)_

 

He folds it up and adds it to the pile of letters he’s written Caleb, the ones he’ll never send.

It’s better that Caleb forgets about him. He probably already has. Good.  
Good, that’s good.  
Everyone forgets Molly.

He’s not supposed to be remembered.

  
  


They’ve had three viewings on the house since it went up for sale two weeks ago.

None of them are people that Caleb likes, but he has no choice. He accepts the first offer that comes in, he’s been out of work for a week now and already their savings are dwindling.

 

It's been weeks since Molly left. Caleb's phone remains stubbornly quiet and lonely, and he knows it's probably because Molly still doesn't have his own yet, but on the other hand... it could be that Molly never wanted him in the first place.

He finds himself sitting by the window, overlooking the sunset on the park in front of his house, and remembering the night they'd first met. The glitter on Nott's cheeks, the warmth of Molly's skin under his fingers, and the intrinsic knowledge that even if soulmates were bullshit in their pre-designation, Molly is something special.

It's been weeks since Molly left. It feels like years. And as is the nature of the carnival, he's never coming back.

Caleb falls asleep there, leaning on the windowsill, yearning for Molly with his cup of lavender-and-vanilla tea in hand.

  


 

“We’re moving on next week.” Yasha curls an arm around Molly’s shoulders. They sit at the top of a hill, Molly’s sweat-damp hair stuck to his face and breath coming in panting waves as he pushes his face into his palms.

Walking, working out, Molly’s found that these things hurt him in a way just right to drive thought from his brain. The view from up here is incredible, and well worth the scrapes he’s gotten tackling the sheer banks and drops and jumps. There had been a patch of slate about halfway up- down? The hill-mountain that had very nearly had Molly skittering to an early grave over a waterfall and he’d taken a deep breath of death and come away from it unscathed.  
It was the most he’d felt since leaving Caleb.

“Good.” Molly murmurs, maybe a full two silent minutes after Yasha speaks. It’s usual. She’s used to it. “I’m ready to leave. I don’t feel like I was ever really here.”

“Caleb texted me today.”

Molly steels under her arm.

“They’ve sold the house. They’re moving out in a couple of days.”

Molly sighs and rubs his face. She’s been keeping him updated about Caleb losing his job, the closure of the library, Beau’s father being a dickhead. Every time, she asks him if he wants to send them a text. This time is no different.

“Do you want me to send anything to them for you?”

Molly shakes his head, just as he does every time she asks,

“It’s better that they’ve forgotten me.” He tells her low, “I’m not meant to be remembered.”

She shuts her mouth on all of the sad texts and calls from Caleb asking after Molly, making sure he’s okay, that he’s alive. She shuts her mouth on all of the _I love him, Yasha_ ’s, all of the _I want him back_ ’s, all of the _I want to be his and his only_ ’s, they’d just make Molly feel worse.  
Caleb isn’t getting better, neither is Molly, and nobody will do anything about it.

 

Molly draws in the car.

He draws the cats that he’s seen, he draws Cali and Jester curling up together, he draws Yasha and, when he thinks nobody else can see, he draws Caleb.  
He draws Caleb _so much_. He can never quite get the right line of his hair or the glimmer of his eyes or how soft his lips looked in the evening sunlight and it hurts Molly to know he’s getting further away each day but it’s better that way.

He’s starting to forget the heat of Caleb’s hands at his hips, the texture of Caleb’s scars under his fingers, starting to forget Caleb’s voice.

“ _Ich liebe dich._ ” Molly murmurs to himself on the motorway, shading Caleb’s hair in light strokes.

“Forgetting him, hm?” Yasha asks softly and he starts damn near out of his skin.

“ _Nein- ich bin- nein_.”

Yasha chuckles warmly,

“ _Es ist in Ordnung, weißt du, Molly. Es ist normal._ ” _  
_ _It’s okay, you know, Molly. It’s normal._

Molly shakes his head,

“I still don’t understand German.”

“It’s okay, you know.” Yasha repeats in English, “It’s normal. To forget.”

“I don’t _want to_.” 

“You want him to forget about you, though?”

Molly twists his pencil so hard and sudden that it snaps to splinters between his hands and he bursts into tears.

“No!” He wails, gathering the pieces with shaking hands, “No, no, no, _no_ \- I don’t want that and I don’t want this! Tape! Tell me we have tape, I need to- to fix- if I can fix _this_ , this one thing-” he pops Yasha’s glovebox and begins to ratch through, “If I can fix _this one thing_ , everything will be okay. I’ll be okay. I can’t believe- I’m so fucking _stupid._ ”

“Left hand side.” Yasha says gently, and Molly’s shaking hands find the duct tape and a pen knife.

Yasha watches from the corner of her eye as he cuts shaking pieces of tape and carefully, lovingly repairs his pencil. It’s just a normal pencil, he has three more in his side pouch of his bag but Yasha understands.

The pencil is representative. It’s a grounding agent. It’s something he’s played with that’s helped it and he’s just snapped it in his hands like it’s nothing.

The same way that the memory of him could snap Caleb.

“Oh, Molly.” Yasha soothes as he puts his pencil aside and cries unrestrained into his hands, “Do you want music on?”

He nods hard, and she turns the radio on. When he flinches, she switches it to her phone and hands it over to him,

“Passcode is zero seven zero nine.”

“Nott’s birthday.” Molly murmurs, Yasha nods,

“She turned eighteen last week. I’m proud of her.”

“So am I.” he flicks through her songs and puts on one that he knows, one that Caleb likes.

He hovers over Yasha’s messaging app.  
She sees.  
She says nothing.

He opens the app and finds Caleb in a rush of worry, before he can think, and messages,  
  
  
_ > How are you doing?_  


It’s midnight. Caleb should be asleep. He shouldn’t be on his phone.  
The reply bubble pops up near immediately,  


_> Not well, honestly. We have two days to clear out our things, I have not slept for two days, and the loneliness is becoming something like agony._  


Molly taps anxiously as he reads, replies in another flurry,  


_> Are you going to be okay?_  


There’s a pause. Caleb types and rewrites, types and rewrites.  
In his living room, he fights down tears by candlelight and fists one hand in his hair, the sharp pain just distracting enough to fight the burn back.  
Rewrites and types.  
And types.  
And types.  


_> Why did you let me fall in love, Yasha?_  


“I need you to pull over.” Molly chokes, one hand finds his hair and pulls and Yasha grimaces,

“Thirty seconds.”

Indicating and pulling over is easy, Molly puts her phone on the dashboard and rushes out of the car into the short-cropped treeline and doubles over to be violently sick.  


_ > Yasha? _

_> You’re probably driving. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to put that on you._  


Caleb isn’t getting a reply. It’s making bile boil painfully in his throat, he just want it to- to- to _stop_.  


_> Please don’t leave me again, Yasha._  


Oh.  
Oh, Molly had said something so similar to him, in the library, in the library where they’d almost kissed.

 _‘You will not lose me.’_ he remembers his own voice, echoes in his ears so loud he thinks his head might burst.  


_> I promised him._  


He isn’t thinking anymore.  


_ > I told him that he would not lose me. That we would work it out. _

_> I lied to him. I loved him. I lied._  


Molly pauses for breath at the side of the road, heaving for air. Yasha presses a bottle of water into his hands and the wind catches the music of the car and blows it over. Another song that Caleb loves,  


_But if you loved me,_

_Why’d you leave me,_  


Molly hurls again, Yasha holds his hair back over his head and listens as he murmurs along near-drunkenly,

“ _Take my body,_ ” he spits, “ _Take my body._ ”

 

Caleb’s fingers stutter over his keys,  


_ > All I want is _

_> Is_  


“ _And all I need is,_ ” Molly pauses in the song to throw again, and Yasha strokes his back and murmurs in continuation,

“ _To find somebody. I’ll find somebody._ ”  


_ > Him. _

_ > Not someone like him. I don’t want someone else. I do not want anything else. _

_ > All I want is Mollymauk Tealeaf. _

  
Yasha ties Molly’s hair back with one of the bobbles she keeps around her wrist,

“Are you good?”

“Yeah. I am now.” Molly takes a swig of water and gargles, spits it.

She leads him back to the car.

 

_You brought out the best in me,_

_A part of me I’d never seen,_

_You took my soul and wiped it clean,_

_Our love was made-_

 

“No more.” Molly murmurs as he flicks the music app off, doesn’t even look at the messages, “No more of this. When do we stop?”

“Service station, half an hour. We’re running a while behind.” she takes her phone from him,  


_ > I’m sorry, I had to deal with a sick friend. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Love you. Be safe. _

 

 _> Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry._  


Caleb shuts his phone off and curls up on the sofa, pulls the blanket Molly has left him over his shoulders and tries to will himself to sleep, staring at the darkened TV screen.  
When the voices in his head telling him of his mistakes begin to hiss, Caleb sits back up and grabs the remote.

He puts _The Runaway Rainbow_ on again, on repeat, the way he has for two weeks.

He lays his head back to the pillow and closes his eyes.

Dreams of Molly.

 

“You messaged him.” Yasha turns the corner into the service station. The rest of the convoy is there already, Gustav stands by his trailer smoking and watching and Yasha flashes her lights to him as she enters.

“I miss him.” Molly admits quietly. Yasha smiles sadly.

“He misses you too.”

Molly joins Gustav outside, twin trails of pale grey rising into the moonlight and clouding the silence between them.  
When they go to bed that night, Molly clings to Yasha’s arm hard and sobs against her as long as he can before he falls to sleep.

 

Nott creeps downstairs at gone two in the morning. Caleb is asleep on the sofa, Molly’s blanket pulled up and cuddled to him and he shivers in the cold night air. She sighs gently and pulls her quilt from her shoulders, knowing this was coming, drapes it over him and tucks it in at the sides with a sigh.

And then she potters back upstairs.

 

Nott is in the kitchen making coffee, Caleb has only just sat up from slumber when there’s a hard and heavy knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” he calls through, drops her quilt from his shoulders and goes. The door clicks as it unlocks, morning light stinging Caleb’s eyes and he pulls the door open.

Fjord is pulled up outside. Beau stands on his doorstep, shoulders heaving under a rucksack, breath heavy, determination in her ice-blue eyes.

“Is your phone charged?”

“I- Beau- what?”

“Your phone. Is it charged?”

“ _Ja_. Why?”

“Your bags are packed? You got everything?”

“ _Ja_ , ready to leave tomorrow. Is something wrong?”

“We’re leaving.” she says, her chin tilts up with an edge of something so fierce it lights a fire in Caleb’s heart. A good one. Burning, determined.

“We are leaving?”

Her shoulders shake, glimmer of tears, but there’s a wide grin on her face,

“We’re leavin’. We’re goin’ after them, Caleb.”

“But- our lives here, we can’t-”

“Caleb,” Beau shakes her head, clenches one fist and spreads it again as she gestures to the space around her, “Look around! Your life isn't here. Your life was never here. Our lives were never here, this was never our home.”

“My history-” he tries, and she shakes her head again,

“It’s in the past. Y’can’t change it. You can change your future, you can go find Molly, you can go get laid!”

“I- ah. I have no interest in that-”

“Then get kissed, I don’t give a _fuck_. All I know is I gotta go, you’re- we’re-” she thrusts her left hand out toward him “-We’re meant to go together. Me, you, Fjord, Nott.”

“ _Our lives,_ Beau! We cannot leave behind everything that we have worked for.”

“You got fired. Nott finished college. I’m homeless. Fjord’s boss is mad.” she lists them off on her fingers and Fjord leans out of his window,

“Ex-boss! He wants to _murder me_ , Caleb, I finally set off that virus. Works a charm, Nott, thank y’.”

“Our lives were never here.” Beau repeats herself, softer this time, “This was never our home.”

Caleb looks from Fjord. To Nott, who has come up beside him now. Back to Beau.

The glint of determination turns her icy eyes to steel.  
He feels it mirroring, firing up inside him, too.

“ _Ja_.” He says softly.

“What?” Beau asks, and a smile crosses her face,

“ _Ja!_ ” Caleb repeats, “Nott, collect your things. We are leaving now. We’re-”

“We’re going after them, at last?”

“We are going after them. Let’s go, let’s-” he pauses and turns and throws himself into a hug with Beau. She chuckles awkwardly as she curls a hand around his back and squeezes,

“Proud of you.” She says, quick, and then “Fuckin’ get on with it! Haven’t got all day.”

Caleb turns and rushes around the house gathering the last of their things.

 

They’re going after Molly.

They’re going _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the author fuckin' THRIVES on being called an asshole. Quote the most painful parts. Tell me what hurt you. Pls


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trips!

“Isn’t this a thirty zone?” Beau leans to hover over Fjord’s speedometer, frowning. He nods,

“S’only a couple miles faster.”

“You’re goin’ fifty.”

“No cameras ‘round here.”

“Never thought _I’d_ be the one sayin’ this but- fuckin’ slow down. If y’ get pulled over we lose ground.”

“Do we even know where they are?” Nott chips from the back, looking from Beau in the mirror to Caleb laying beside her, sleeping against the window. Beau waves her phone.

“They’re headin’ down to Canterbury, got a head start on us but they’re slower an’ stop more.”

“Good.” Nott murmurs, “Good, good, good.”

Caleb hasn’t told Yasha what they’re doing. He’s pressed to the window trying not to be sick in the new morning, evening his breathing carefully.

“Doing okay?” Nott asks him, and he sighs a little, shakily,

“I don’t know.” He says honestly, “I am abandoning my life and leaving behind everything that has made me who I am, but it does not feel like a loss. It feels like- like _freedom_. Like the manacles have been taken off.”

“Is this journey the freedom, or is Molly the freedom?”

“The journey.” Caleb doesn’t waste a moment on thought, “Leaving itself. Molly is the goal, is the catalyst, but- no. Leaving and the journey is the freedom. And _stop_ playing therapist, Nott-”

She breaks into laughter, shakes her head, nearly makes Fjord crash he twitches so hard in shock.

“Sorry. But I like hearing you say it. It shows how much better you’re getting, Caleb!”

Caleb sighs heavily.

“I am going to sleep. Wake me when we stop to take a piss.”

Beau barks a laugh at his phrasing,

“I’ll wake ya at the services- go to sleep you fuckin’ weirdo.”

“Thank you, Beauregard.” the bitter overtone he’d tried for it falls away to genuine feeling, and Beau shifts uncomfortably.

“Yeah. Sure.”

 

The scenery inches by and it all looks the same. Caleb closes his eyes staring at empty fields in drizzling rain, watching the dry brush go by from the heatwave and the grass flicker between patches of brown and bright green where old walls have been buried. When he sees sheep, he startles a little in almost-excitement, the rams’ curled horns and sweet faces remind him of Molly in ways he doesn’t quite understand.  
The sheep in every field he passes are nestled together in the grey light.

Caleb closes his eyes.

He tries to keep them closed but he can’t stop thinking of Molly. He opens them again to sprays of pink cosmos on the roadside and sighs, shifting from uneasy to relaxed and resigned. He can do nothing about the montage of Molly’s tattoos playing in his head so he settles in to enjoy it.  
He plays a game with himself. How many types of tree and plant can he identify as he passes.

Hawthorn.

Oak.

Sycamore.

Aspen- no, alder- he got only the briefest view of the bark but it was dark and lined vertically, alder bark- aspen, he knows, is paler, smooth.

More hawthorn. There’s- there’s just so much of it, everywhere around here. He can see a handful of berries and quirks a smile- it shouldn’t have its fruit in this season, in midsummer, but hawthorn is a strange and wily one. It has never followed the rules here. Everywhere else in the world, maybe, but never here.

He spots an ash tree and goes back to his observations.

There’s smatterings of oxeye daisies and chamomile, and that, that makes Caleb smile. He chances a look over his shoulder at Nott and Fjord, Nott leaning between the seats to point out the signs and checking her phone for a reference to the map.  
He turns back to a bright burst of butterweed and lets out a soft sigh.

“Still awake?” Beau’s eye makes an appearance in the gap by the door and Caleb meets it, nods,

“I cannot sleep. I think I’m excited, or maybe I’m nervous. Either way, I feel about ready to be sick any moment.”

“Want us to pull over?”

“No, I’ll tell you if I feel the need to be sick.”

“A’ight.”

Caleb goes back to looking out of the window, but with so much hawthorn and very little of anything else interesting, it begins to quickly grow stale. His brain grows louder, louder again, and in a fit of desperate grasping, Caleb picks out the first bunch of words he finds and knows well,

“Ah” He murmurs under his breath to test the volume, “ _Thou art like one of those fellows that,_ ”   
Beau’s eye has reappeared, Caleb doesn’t notice as he rolls through Mercutio’s lines. He pauses, the space for Benvolio’s that he doesn’t fill, and keeps on, “ _and as soon moody to be moved._ ” 

“ _And what to?_ Seriously, Caleb, Shakespeare?” Beau breaks his little reverie and he jolts. Nott looks over, Beau whips around to catch her eye. Nott blinks, slowly, and goes back to her chatter with Fjord.

Beau turns back to Caleb.

“ _Ja_.” He answers as though there was no interruption, “It is- it is a scene I studied in secondary school, and I know it well. It is familiar enough that recalling it is its own comfort, and helps to keep the rest of my mind quiet.”

“Oh. But- Mercutio? Of all of ‘em, _Mercutio_?” 

Caleb shifts a little uncomfortably,

“We were supposed to act out a scene each. I was meant to be Benvolio, and my friend, Aeodwulf, he was intended to be Mercutio. But the scene we had, Mercutio had almost a speech to himself, and Aeodwulf was not as good at recall as I am. I had all of the lines of the scene memorised, so we simply switched positions, so that he could use my cue cards for Benvolio’s lines. You know them?”

“Uh- yeah. I know ‘em, we did Romeo and Juliet too. I was Romeo.”

“That… is very fitting, actually.”

Beau gives a little chuckle,

“You don’t seem the Mercutio type. How’d you hold up with dyin’?”

“We did not do that half of the scene, but I used to be quite an actor in my youth.” Caleb shakes his head with a hint of a smile, “I enjoyed the plays, they were routine, and appraising the characters of Mercutio and Tybalt and the similarities between them-”

“Ah. Okay, Caleb, go back to reciting _Hamlet_ , I don’t give a shit about academics.”

“It is _not-_ oh. Fuck you, Beauregard.”

She barks a laugh again as she turns away, and Caleb leans up against the window.  
She’s right, about the Mercutio thing. He had done well, he doesn’t doubt that he outshone the rest of his embarrassed little group but- he would make a terrible Mercutio.

Molly would make such a wonderful Mercutio.

The bright spark of life and fiery spirit, determination to the last breath and spit, the flamboyance- oh.

Caleb misses Molly so much.

He misses his smile, his touch and the way his mismatched eyes would glimmer with mischief and go soft with affection when Caleb kissed his shoulders, hands, neck. Caleb misses his warmth under his fingers and the way that Molly looks in the morning when he sits and stretches and lets his lavender curls tumble in a waterfall mess around him.

No.  
No, Caleb, come on- he tears his eyes to the window and leaves a trail of sadness where they fall but he seeks the plants- there’s more he knows and could find for them in the encyclopaedia of his mind.

The first thing he sees is an elder tree. The white puffs of flowers are withering into the small, glossy purple-black berries that Caleb remembers collecting as a young one to ferment into wine. He tosses through the pages of his mind for medical uses- something comes up regarding arthritis and relief of painful symptoms, something about respiratory problems, but most of his memories of this plant are full of the sweet wine his parents would make and store for the Christmas nights.

The next plant that he spots is yarrow. Patches of fluffy leaves from the roadside, a little dusty and worn where they slow by it but yarrow all the same. He knows this plant- it’s edible, he’s eaten it on more than one occasion if only for the odd sensation in his mouth. There’s not much of a taste _to it_ , more medicinal than anything, but his parents had gathered handfuls to turn to a medicine that Caleb remembers _hating_ , relieving his fevers when he was sick, and something tickles in the back of his mind about the use of this plant to aid clotting.

He sees nettles and begins to go through the process of making them into tea, the best way to grab them so your hands aren’t as hurt, the best time to collect and stew them into nettle wine, and it’s around there that he leans his head against the window and falls to sleep, the idea and shape of nettles and the way they taste on his tongue the last things in his mind.

  


“Yasha.” Molly can’t decide if he wants to growl or whine. Yasha side-eyes him and then checks the road sign. Not far to the service station- thank _fuck_ for that, Molly has been swinging wildly between _tree stump_ and _not shutting his mouth for five fucking seconds_. She doesn’t- she doesn’t want to say she _minds_ , per se, she doesn’t really but it’s too much. An overload. The vacillation is unpredictable and she doesn’t like that when she’s driving.

“Are we moving back into talking?”

“I- No- don’t fucking know. Ugh. I just- I’m _losing it,_ Yasha, cooped up in this _fucking_ car, in this _fucking_ head all the time. What do I do? I need something to- to focus on-”

“Have you ever heard of colour therapy?” Yasha’s voice is soft and calm and Molly’s shoulders are tense and hard, fingers digging into the chair beside his legs,

“No? What is it?”

“It’s colouring. I know it sounds childish but- Nott used to use it. To help with her history. When she got anxious, she would colour until she wasn’t thinking about it anymore, and then some. She went through a lot of books that way.”

Molly sighs gently. He’s been drawing, himself, but this sounds far less brain-intensive. He’ll need to buy the books and the coloured pencils, but Gustav has told them that they’re stopping for the night at a big enough service station that he should be able to pick something like that up. For now, he finds himself pulling his sketchbook out and going back to work on the sketch he’s had on and off for a week.

Caleb, beautiful, wonderful Caleb, surrounded with flowers.

Almond blossom, curled up the left side of his face for hope, the little speckled blossoms bright and wide against the thick, shaded design of the asters and gloxinias, for patience, contentment, love at first sight- Molly has chosen each one carefully. He works across Caleb’s head, the little twines of lavender and forget-me-nots forming a beautiful crown across his head.

Molly adds in sprays of honeysuckle to Caleb’s right, Calla lillies underneath and all that over the top of bundles of beautiful lilacs.  
Gods. He can’t wait to get himself a decent set of coloured pencils, a pen- he can’t wait to _finish_ this piece. It’s going to be beautiful. Magnificent.

 

Yasha pulls into the service station with the convoy, parks up by their trailer and watches the spark of fierce determination in Molly’s eyes with some kind of relief. It’s been a while since she saw something other than sadness and anguish in Molly, he’s _excited_ for something now and that’s _good._

They pause to drop Molly’s sketchbook in his trailer and give Gustav a quick hug and an update, and then Yasha comes with him to the shop and he apologises for the late visit to the tired-looking clerk who smiles dully at him as they ring up the purchase. 

Molly swears he’s vibrating as he sits in the main room of the trailer over the table by the weak main light, inking his lines carefully in far past the time that Yasha goes to bed. He weights each one with utter dedication, the lines around Caleb’s hair heavier, the ones that outline the tears feather-light and gappy. It’s been a while since Molly worked on something like this, so focused and driven and each detail careful and with the quiet all around him he doesn’t make a single misstep. He pauses near one in the morning to open a window, and then goes back to it, blowing across the paper after each flower just to ensure the ink is dry as he moves to the next one.

He switches from his right hand to his left when his wrist begins to cramp, the careful linework barely suffering for the change but the relief coming thick and hot when he changes back.  
By the time he moves from the lines to the colours, it’s light outside but he doesn’t want to stop- he _can’t_ , it’s only four in the morning, he needs to- this needs to be done! It- he turns to the sink with hands shaking for a cup of water and finds Yasha leaning against it.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know you need to sleep, now.”

“I can’t. I can’t sleep yet, it isn’t finished.”

“Your mental state is, though.” She puts a hand gently but firmly on his shoulder, and he swallows, the bags under his eyes dark as shadow.

“It isn’t finished.”

“You can finish it in the car. You have time. It’s okay.”

He sighs and turns back to the drawing. Yasha comes with him to watch as he packs away the pencils and pens, she studies the linework as he brushes the eraser crumbs away.

“I’ll need to re-do the lines in places.” He murmurs.

“This is beautiful.” Yasha’s hand comes back to his shoulder, “He would love this.”

“I don’t want him to think about me.” Molly sniffles, “He moves out today, right?”

“Yeah. They’re out by ten.”

“Do they know where they’re going yet?”

Yasha shrugs,

“Haven’t heard from them since early yesterday morning. Last they said, they were staying with Fjord for a few days.”

Molly groans gently and closes his book with such care that Yasha feels the ache in her bones.

“I’m tired, Yasha.”

“I know. Let’s go to bed.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He follows her through anyway, and sees the edge of a smile as she waits by the bed,

“I know. Time for sleep.”

He climbs in, she presses her back to his, and smiles wider when he falls away near-immediately into a deep, dreamless depth of rest.

 

 

Beau stretches and turns over in bed, finds Caleb sitting on the floor staring at her and fiddling with a piece of string or… something. He makes shapes, untangles them easily, makes new shapes.

“Don’t do that.” She says gruffly, doesn’t even flinch, “Don’t wake me up like that.”

“I did not wake you up.” He points out, “I was sitting here when you woke yourself up. Is it time to leave?”

“Fjord not comfortable t’ sleep with?” She grins, and Caleb shakes his head,

“He’s wonderful. I slept better than I have since- since they left, but I- I- I want to go. I want Molly back. I need him back.”

Beau rolls out of bed and lands on the floor with a _thump_ , making Nott and Fjord jerk as they begin to wake up too.

Beau rolls across the floor to Caleb and crawls up to splay across his lap, loose and gloopy over his legs. He looses and recreates the criss-cross pattern he’s been working on above her head, smiling when she goes a little cross-eyed to watch it.

“Beau? You fall outta bed again?” Fjord has rolled over and is squinting at her blearily.

“On purpose this time. Gotta get you up somehow, yeah? We gotta move. Jester text me to let me know that they’re a couple hours away from Canterbury, we still got, uh- Nott?”

“We’re on the outskirts of Nottingham.” Nott rubs her eyes as she sits up, “It’s about four hours. And they were ahead of us anyway, I think.”

“We’ll get there today, anyway. Take a decent pace. Don’t need to rush it.” Fjord yawns as he sits up, “I’m gonna shower. Y’gettin’ breakfast?”

“Yeah, there’s a burger place just in the service station.” Beau rolls off of Caleb, “You want us to pick you somethin’ up?”

“Just some fries, I gotta go light. Maybe a drink? Lemonade?”

“Y’sure?”

Fjord thinks about it for a moment.

“Yeah, that sounds fine.”

“I’ll come with you, Caleb.” Nott scrambles out of bed and goes for her shoes, “I’ll change when we get back.”

They’ve all slept in their clothes, it’s just _easier_ than unpacking all of their bags. Caleb had predicted this, has a change of clothes already set in his satchel bag with his aids, the fluffy little cat toy that Molly had given him a few days before he left, the bag of lavender, the little box of teabags, and the various stim toys that he’d bought whilst they were cheap in the craze. He still gets odd looks for playing with a fidget spinner, but the weight and sensation is a comfort and it becomes easy to tune everything else out.  
He stands and smooths himself out, helps to drag Beau to her feet too, Fjord stands and pulls his shirt off,

“See y’ soon.”

They head out for food.

 

Beau never ceases to be amazed by the amount that Nott can put down her, she ends up with three burgers, two portions of fries, and a milkshake down, carries both Fjord’s food and her own additional milkshake and fries back to their room. Caleb, much the same as Fjord, is staying light, a coffee and fries, nothing big.

Beau has the breakfast burger, extra bacon, begs bacon on the side and is still tearing into strips of that when they get back. Fjord is sitting on the end of the bed he’d shared with Caleb, tousled and damp, wrapped in a towel and he smiles at them in an awkward, almost sad way. Nott stomps over and drops the paper bag of food on his lap.

“Eat.” She commands, “And then dress and we’ll go. Dibs on first to change and also shotgun.”

Fjord looks at Beau expectantly, but she just makes a noise of disgust, rolls her eyes.

“Ugh. Fine. I suppose you have the map, I can always just sleep in the back.”

“Attagirl, Beau.” Nott pats her arm and ducks out of the way of the lazy backhand, taking a deep sip of her milkshake, “I’ll go change. See you in a minute.”

Caleb watches her go with a proud smile, Beau watches her go with a glare.

“She is so good at what she does.” Caleb says, and Beau rolls her eyes,

“What’s that? Bein’ an annoyin’ little shit?”

“ _Ja._ ” Caleb answers smugly, “Exactly that.

 

 

  
Molly wakes up bleary and yawning and Yasha holds a can out to him as he sits up,

“Here. Drink. Two hours on the road and then setup, Cali’s working advertisement tonight.”

Molly takes and chugs without so much as looking at it to see what it is. It turns out to be something pleasantly fruit-flavoured, when he pulls it away from his mouth he finds it’s an energy drink.

“Thanks.” He lifts the can to her, “Heard from Caleb or Nott?”

Yasha shakes her head.

“They’ll message me later, when they’re settled in. I’m sure.”

“I hope so. We leaving now?”

“Yes, very soon. I took your pencils over, but your sketchbook is still here. I know it’s important to you, I didn’t want to touch it.”

Molly smiles up at her, the shadows under his eyes making him look a decade or three older than he should. That hurts Yasha in the soul, she thinks, it aches somewhere not quite physical for him.  
He stands, sets the can down on the windowsill and moves his book before he goes for his clothes,

“Be out in a minute.”

“See you soon.”

 

He takes time deciding what to wear when Yasha leaves. For some reason, a voice in the back of his mind tells him to choose well, maybe it’s because he needs to be good for the drawing, maybe he’s getting better, he really can’t tell. But he picks out a new shirt, a plaid one in fall colours and pulls it on over his zip-up nude binder, shuffles into some loose pants and picks up his sketchbook in one hand, the can in the other, chugs the last of it before he heads for the door.  
He crushes the can in his hand as he goes, drops it in the little bag of _things that can be recycled_ in the kitchen, and says good morning to Gustav and Desmond.

“Feeling any better, son?” Gustav asks gently, “Yasha said you were up until four.”

“Past that, I think. Yeah, I- I think I am. I just want to finish this piece.”

“That’s fair.” Gustav nods.

“Valid.” Yasha chips from the doorway, and Molly turns to her with horror in his expression,

“Where did you learn that?”

“Nott.” Yasha shrugs.

“Never, ever say that again. It doesn’t suit you.” Molly chides and they begin to make their way to her car, Yasha laughs lightly,

“Molly, are you saying I’m not valid?”

“Yasha.” He says and forces his voice to strain, “ _Please_.”

“This is the first I’ve heard you joke since we left Caleb.” She smiles a little, “I’m proud of you. I won’t say it again.”

Molly climbs into her car and the first thing he does is grab his pencils.  
The second is fold himself up into art position.  
The third is buckle himself in.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, just- yeah. Now.”

He’s stuck his pencil case into prime pencil-grabbing position by his ass, has hold of his first, light green pencil. Yasha turns the key and brings the car to life,

“Onward we go, then.”

“Onward we go.”

 

Molly spends a lot of time taking care to ensure his strokes are even. He blends forest green into chartreuse for the leaves, sets his light source high, makes the highlights on Caleb’s cheekbones soft enough to show the curve of his skin and pencils in each of the freckles that he’s memorised on Caleb’s face, making constellations across the bridge of his nose. He smooth-smudges the bright of the tears, deepens the shadows of the hair, makes each flower petal vivid and colourful and _perfect_ , just as Caleb is in life.

It becomes a pretty cacophony of colour, Molly is careful to smooth the shadows into transitional tones where clashing flower colours would meet, the reflected lights from silky petals and tiny veins running along them. He roots for his white gel pen and adds the glimmer of the tears over the top, draws a thick black outline around the whole of the outside, and works in more red undertone on Caleb’s cheeks and ear tips.

The steeple of Canterbury Cathedral is in view before Molly looks up from his work.

“Nearly there?” He asks, his voice quiet and hoarse with disuse, “It feels like seconds.”

“You’ve been working non-stop.” Yasha says with a hint of pride and smile to her tone, “It’s been a treasure to watch. Even at the toll booth.”

“There was a toll booth?”

“Just before London.”

“Oh.” Molly hadn’t noticed at all. He looks back at the drawing of Caleb and something niggles at him, something missing, he can’t figure out what it is.

Caleb’s hands are drawn up over his shoulders, crossed, like he’s died and been wreathed in flowers of all kinds. The eryngium is there on the back of Caleb’s left hand, bright and blue and beautiful, there’s the hint of burn scars before the flowers blot them out.  
But as Molly looks over them, he realises that for all the flowers he’s drawn, there’s one very obvious flower he hasn’t used.

A rose.

It’s too late to add it on properly, but the _knowing_ seems to help, eases the edge from him, and Molly carefully goes back over the lines that have worn thin as Yasha pulls up with the rest of the convoy in their new region.

“May I see?” She asks, when Molly puts his pencils away. He turns it, almost shyly, in her direction and is met with a gentle smile,

“I know it’s- not quite right but I tried. I promise.” He says, worrying his lip, and Yasha shakes her head,

“It’s perfect.”

Molly looks back down at it. At Caleb.  
He’s struck with such a pang of hurt and longing and loneliness that he’d double over were he not already sitting down.

“I miss him so much.”

“I know.” Yasha soothes, “So do I. But he’s here, now,” she points at the book, doesn’t touch, “And you know you can message him anytime.”

“Have you heard from him yet?”

“I got, um, something along the lines of _our new home is unexpected_.” She shakes her head, “Very cryptic. Very Caleb.”

Molly smiles. He wonders what Caleb’s new home is like, whether it’s big, a house, a flat, maybe, whether Nott still has a whole room for storage, whether the attic is a room, if they have an attic at all!

He thinks, as he heads into the trailer, that maybe he’d like to see Caleb’s home one day.  
He sets his sketchbook in his top drawer and looks up to the mirror to braid his hair, almost shocked to see himself smiling.

That settles it.

He’d like to see Caleb’s home.

He sees himself in the mirror with a smile, and knows it’s the right thing to hope for.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search

“Half an hour. Ish.” Nott looks over her shoulder to Caleb and Beau, playing hangman in the back seat just to occupy their minds. It’s mid-afternoon, they’d set off late, Caleb uneasy and sick and hard to placate but somehow Beau has managed it.

Caleb looks up from drawing the hangman’s head and spots the spire of Canterbury cathedral in the distance, shifts in something between excitement and nerves.

“Do we know where they are?” he asks her, and she shakes her head,

“No.” she answers aloud, “But there’s only so many places. I have us booked into a hotel in the city centre, so we have a base of operation. We can go and look.”

Caleb flips the page to a clear space and ignored Beau’s chirrup of anger, sketches out a quick map of the city centre of Canterbury.

“If we split up the area, it should not be hard to find the carnival, or something to tell us where they are.”  
He’s murmuring more to himself that anything, but Beau leans in to watch anyway. Calm. Collected.

“Where is the hotel?” his eyes are on his sketch, 

“It’s, um- New Dover Road, just outside of the very centre of the city. It’s- it looks nice. Two rooms, this time.”

“Who is paying?” and it’s the first time he lifts his eyes from the book,

“I am.” Fjord’s fingers flex, “It ain’t a permanent setup, but- tonight, yeah”

“Nott, show me on the map where the hotel is?” it’s more of a demand than a polite request but Nott taps and opens it anyway, there’s a marker over the hotel location, and Caleb copies it onto his own sketch. He divides the area up into almost-equal sections,

“If we start tonight, we may be able to scour this area through to this area…” He drifts into murmurs, pointing at various sections and Beau shakes her head,

“Nah. Half it. It’s a city- quiet city, yeah, but still a city. We gotta be careful what we do, where we go, we should go in pairs. Me an’ you, Fjord an’ Nott.”

“Why not me and Nott?” Caleb looks up and frowns and Beau shifts,

“‘Cause I said it the way I want it.”

Caleb looks up to her, deliberately avoiding his eyes, and quirks a smile.

“So then, we can check these areas.” He shades them lightly, “Nott and Fjord can take this section, we will take this section. If you can climb a tree, we can do a scan, cover more area at once. If, by ten in the evening, we have not found the carnival, we will regroup.”

“Watch a movie?” Nott perks up, and Caleb laughs, a breath harder than the rest and a wonderful sound to Nott,

“We will watch a movie. Something with a happy ending.”

“The Princess Bride?” Beau responds almost on impulse, and Caleb quirks a smile and an eyebrow at her,

“You are a fan of musical theatre as well as Shakespeare, Beauregard?”

“I- No- wait- _fuck-_ Caleb I- hah-” She hisses through a long h noise, “ _Girls hot._ ”

“Oh?” Caleb teases, “I would not know. What part of Heathers could possibly relate to, what was it you said? _Girls hot_ ?”  
“Look,” Beau starts firmly, gesturing with one hand, “Skirt. Mean. _Mean_ , Caleb.”

“I did not have you down as a submissive personality, Beauregard.” His eyebrows threaten to raise into his hairline and she reaches over to punch him in the arm,

“Girls hot, fuck you, Heathers was good.”

“Why don’t we watch that, then?” Nott turns her head to watch them, “I’ve never seen it.”

“We’re not watching the version with Winona Ryder.” Beau pulls a face, “There’s plenty of the musical theatre versions on YouTube. Anythin’ but the movie.”

“Movies.” Caleb corrects, “There is a remake, now. I believe either Duke or McNamara was replaced with… oh, a gay man? A genderfluid person? I don’t remember.”

“ _You_ don’t remember?” Nott says, incredulous, as Beau shakes her head,

“Remake was a series an’ they cancelled it ‘cause shit’s fucked in America. And it was Duke. And they were genderqueer. McNamara was made into a lesbian, an’ one of th’ fuckin’ football jerks was gay with Duke. The whole thing was fucked.”

“Ah,” Caleb shakes his head, “Nice to know that we are still the villains and butts of the joke.”

“It wasn’t, like, _horribly_ done.” Beau leans back, “It was shot well or whatever, but- no, you know?” 

“I understand. How far now, Nott?”

“About ten minutes.” She replies quietly, “Are we eating first?”

Caleb looks at Beau, who shrugs,

“We will find somewhere as we search. You can do whatever helps you, do not starve for me, Nott.”

He leans forward to kiss the side of her head. She chuckles,

“I’ve been eating all the way here, but thank you.”

 

The rooms they get are clean and light, lit by warm yellow lamps across soft brown carpet. Caleb likes it, it’s aesthetically pleasing, and he and Nott have twin beds. That’s the important factor.

He trails in quietly, observant, every surface is clean and the sheets are smooth and the pillows fluffed. Nott takes the bed by the window, she likes it that way. She likes to be by the open, by the light, by curtains and daylight and space. Caleb likes the wall, he likes the way it makes him feel safe and enclosed, walled off from danger. He has a reading light by his bed that he flicks on as Nott pulls the curtains over the huge window- Caleb, she knows, feels uncomfortable with open windows. This time, though, he shakes his head,

“Just a moment. We are on the third floor, _ja_? That must be higher than a lot of the buildings, we are at a vantage point here.”

She pulls the curtain open a little again. They’re facing away from the main city, Caleb takes a moment to rake his eyes over the residential areas and roads he can see, but he doesn’t spot the circus tents. He sighs gently and jerks the curtains closed before he heads to his bed to sit,

“It was always going to be difficult. But now that there is a chance, now that we are so close, I just want him back.”

“We’ll find him soon. Promise.” she comes to him and bundles him into a hug that he struggles to reciprocate. Sat on the bed with Nott standing, she’s taller than he is, rests her chin on top of his head.

“I hope that we do.” Caleb murmurs into Nott’s huge sweater. It’s one of Fjord’s, one that he hates that he’s given to her because she didn’t bring any of her own. It’s three or four sizes too big for her, and she loves it.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“And when I promise…?”

“You follow through.” He squeezes his arms around her affectionately, “Thank you. I do not mean to doubt.”

“It’s alright.” She tells him sagely. “Have you told Yasha yet?”

“ _Nein,_ Beau wants it to be a surprise. I will tell her that we are settled for the night, though.”

He digs his phone from his pocket as Nott steps back from him, shoots the text off.  
He gets a response almost immediately,

 

_ >I’m happy for you. Be happy for me, Caleb? _

 

_ >I am happy for you. You followed your heart. _

 

_ >That isn’t what I meant. _

 

Caleb frowns in confusion. Another text follows quickly,

 

_ >I want you to be happy. Can you do that for me? _

 

_ >I will be. Soon, I think. Sooner than I had thought. _

 

Yasha’s phone shivers in Molly’s hands and he fights off tears tucked under her arm. He texts back, finality in his heart. This is it. This needs to be the end. This needs to be the last of Caleb, he’s only torturing himself.

 

_ >Good. That’s all I want from you. Thank you, Caleb. _

 

Caleb stares and re-reads a few times. It’s- it’s so distinctly not-Yasha that it hurts. But if it isn’t Yasha, then-

 

_ >...Mollymauk? _

 

Molly pushes the phone into Yasha’s hands and flees the trailer. Yasha reads over.  
She doesn’t reply.

Caleb, in his hotel room, stands and puts his phone in his pocket and brushes himself down in determination. This has done nothing but strengthen the feelings of absence in his chest and he’s ready- he waves goodbye to Nott and heads off to collect Beau, together, they head out to scour the city.

 

Beau, Caleb finds, is shockingly good at scaling buildings.

 

She climbs onto so many roofs for him, but none are high enough for a clear view of the whole city and she can see only so far.

They travel the whole block that Caleb has marked out, going even into the residential areas and Caleb can’t help but laugh as Beau skims the sights for a good house to climb. Caleb chatters amicable to an old lady, out in the garden with her husband, tending to their rose bush, and manages to swing permission for Beau to climb their house. All three watch in almost awe as Beau takes a running jump up to the door overhang, swings herself up and hops to the window ledge, from there edging across to pin herself taut between the two houses. She has to stretch her whole height of five foot five to scoot up, but with some kind of miracle, she manages to get up to the roof.

The old woman that Caleb has been talking to turns back to give him a wide smile, grey eyes glimmering over her gardening gloves.

“Your friend is very good at what she does.”

“ _Ja._ ” Caleb agrees with a mirroring smile as Beau climbs carefully to the highest point of the roof and stares out, wind catching her ribbons, “She is excellent. I am lucky to have her.”

He rubs, unconsciously, at his left hand and the old woman’s eyes widen.

“Oh, is she-”  
  
“Ah- _ja_ , she is my- my soulmate but we are not together. Both of our interests lie elsewhere, and she is helping me to track mine down. I do not suppose you have heard of a travelling carnival in the city?”

The old lady clucks and turns to ask her husband, he comes up with a weed clenched in his fist,

“Hmph. Carnival, can hardly call them that nowadays. Yeah, I’ve heard there’s something or other happening in one of the parks in town, don’t know which one.”  
  
Caleb’s hopes soar and crash in the same few seconds. There are at least three parks that he can think of off of the top of his head.  
It seems that finding Molly will be a job for the morning, a point accentuated by Beau dropping from the roof with care. She comes up beside him as the old couple begin an affectionate squabble over the nettles.

“Thank you for all of your help!” Caleb calls to them as they leave, and the old woman waves at him,

“Thank you for stopping by!”

Beau and Caleb trudge back to the hotel side-by-side and disappointed, huffs and sighs their only communication.  
They wait for the elevator to bing its way up to the third floor.

“Heathers?” Caleb asks tentatively, and Beau, storm in all of her voice, replies,

“ _Heathers_.”

 

Nott and Fjord are already in Fjord’s room when they get back, Nott flumped face-first over Fjord’s bed, and Fjord sat at the end, tapping away on her laptop. The light outside has near faded to nothing.

“It’s half ten.” Fjord frowns, and Beau groans,

“I know.”  
  
“Nothing?” Nott lifts her head to ask, Beau shakes her head as she heads over to sit on her own bed,

“I didn’t see shit.”

“I heard from a nice elderly couple that the carnival is in one of the parks in the city.” Caleb fiddles with his scarf as he follows her and sits beside her on her bed, “He was not sure which one. They were very impressed by Beau scaling their house like a monkey.”

“Hey, what can I say?” Beau shrugs, “I do cool shit when motivated by hot girls.”

“Speaking of, Beauregard and I would like to watch Heathers. When you’re done with Nott’s laptop, can we use it?”  
  
Fjord looks to Nott, who shrugs and nods,

“Why not?”

They all end up on Fjord’s bed, a cuddle pile that has Caleb feeling shockingly safe. Pressed between Fjord and Beau, Nott curled across their laps, he’s warm and secure.  
It gets even better when Fjord produces a bottle of vodka and a bottle of coke and they begin to drink- by the end of _Candy Store,_ Caleb is buzzing pleasantly, he and Beau singing raucously along to the songs of the musical and making Nott bury her face in her hands, Fjord laugh a little awkwardly.

Caleb is asleep before the end of _Dead Girl Walking,_ out cold on Fjord’s shoulder with Beau leaning up against his own.

After him falls Beau, then Fjord, and Nott closes down her laptop and tucks it away under the bed before she closes her eyes and joins the cuddle puddle in slumbertown.

 

Molly doesn’t come back to the trailer til past one in the morning, and when he does come back, he’s wine-drunk and still drinking. He prefers red. He’s on rosé, whatever some stranger had bought him and he’d made sure to pop the cork and study the bottle himself.

He’s sad. He’s not an idiot.

He’s trailed halfway across the city, coming back worse than when he’d left. Somewhere down by the residential areas, he was sure he’d spotted someone that looked painfully like Nott. With a green sweater, the wild hair, the raised, nervous shoulders but when he’d looked back, they were gone.  
Crushed by the weight of the world, of missing Caleb and Nott and Fjord and Beau, of Caleb forgetting him, he’d gone drinking. An easy solution to a difficult problem- drink to forget.

Yasha has waited for him, sitting in the main room reading when he comes in humming softly to himself. All of the pains of his life slip away under the touch of the wine, the bottle swings merrily between his fingers and he heads into the main room.

“Evening, Yash.” He beams at her, and she dog-ears the page, expression stormy.

“What are you doing?”

“Drinking?” he waves the bottle at her, “Want some?”

“Molly.” She throws the book aside and trails over, roiling like storm clouds and dangerous like lightning, “This is _not_ how you deal with your fucking problems.”

“What else am I meant to do?” Molly goes to swig and peeps when Yasha grabs the bottle from his hands, upends it over the sink, “That was fucking expensive!”

“No, it wasn’t. It was one of the cheapest rosé’s you can buy. You deserve better, and I won’t let you drink yourself into the ground.”

Yasha’s memory provides her with images. Reasons that she’s here.

_A field of lavender on fire, doused by water running with morning glories. Violet skies and vast plains and thunderstorms so bright and loud that all she sees is white._

“I was _meant_ to be here for this.” She sets a hand on his shoulder as the bottle spits the last of the wine out angrily, “I was meant to help you.”

“You can _help me_ by taking it all away! I want to forget- I want to forget it ever happened. I want it to stop hurting. I want it _gone_.” Molly chokes and sobs and throws himself against Yasha to cry without waiting for a reply. She hugs him close.

“Do you really want to forget?” She asks him gently, “Do _you_ , of all people, want to forget?”

“No.” Molly sniffles, “I don’t. I don’t want to forget, I just- it hurts, Yash. So much.”

“I know it does.” She murmurs into the curls on the top of his head, rocks back and forth cradling him. They stand for about thirty seconds in silence, until Yasha sighs gently,

“We should go to bed.”

Molly swallows thickly, presses and squeezes her harder for a split second before he lets go.

“Okay.” He says hoarsely, “Let’s go.”  
  
“Wait,” Yasha grabs a glass and half-fills it with water, “Drink this first. Then sleep.”

The fight has faded out of him now, Molly does as he’s bidden and slinks off into his room, unzipping his binder as he walks and peeling it down his arms, throws it to the corner of the room before he climbs into bed and curls into a ball without bothering even to pull the covers over himself. Yasha follows slower, turning off the lights and sighing gently as she cleans and locks up. When she comes into Molly’s room, he’s asleep already, and she pulls the covers over him before slipping down herself. She closes her eyes to a day that has been long and hard, her muscles aching from the effort of pulling up the tents, and that is the last thought in her brain before it, too, drops into the void.

 

Coming awake is harder than going to sleep.  
Much harder. Molly’s head hurts like fuck and he doesn’t _want_ to get up and put on his outfit and go advertising but Yasha pulls him out of bed by the back of his shirt.

“You get paid to do this, Molly, come on.” she tells him firmly and he whines as he unravels and stretches out, wordless and high and he crawls in the direction of his binder.

Yasha leaves him there to get ready, and when he comes out fully dressed with his eyeliner smudged to shit, she has two strong coffees ready.

“Blegh.” Molly sticks his tongue out, “Coffee is _terrible_.”

He picks it up and begins to drink anyway. It’s Yasha’s cure for a hangover, and he knows this. It’s fine.

“It is.” Yasha agrees as she watches him chug his way through the cup, “But it helps.”  
  
She sips her own. She just likes the buzz.

“Does Gustav have a set place for me to hand out flyers?”  Molly asks as he swipes his hand over his mouth to clear away the droplets of coffee, the cup set back down in the sink. Yasha shrugs,

“Just the town centre.”

“Great.” Molly says with his best attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “Sounds great.”

“Just hand them out and come home. Are you on teller shift tonight?”

“Yeah, every opening night. Think I can pretend to be okay?”

Yasha shifts toward him and kisses his forehead, light and gentle.

“You’re doing well, don’t sell yourself short.”

Molly sighs and softens against her. The pile of flyers sits on the side.

“I’ll try my best.”

 

He ends up pretending very well. It’s his old charm, but hollow inside, he sweet-talks the market stallholders on the main street of the city, hands flyers out left-right-centre.  
He can’t help but keep his eyes peeled for the Nott-like character he’d seen the day before.  
It’s unrealistic, he knows, to even dream that Nott would be here. But Nott and Caleb- they go together, if Nott was here-

No.

No, Molly.

You’re forgetting them, remember?

He shakes it out of his head as he pushes open the door to a little handmade gift store.  
It’s easy to sweet-talk the woman behind the counter, she’s soft-spoken and gentle and friendly, Molly offers her a flyer and she smiles widely,

“Oh! So this is the carnival.”  
  
“You’ve heard of us?” Molly perks up a little, “That’s a surprise. I don’t think we’ve ever been to this city before- not as far as I can remember at least.”

He laughs a little for himself. There’s no bitterness to it.

“Well, I hadn’t, before last night. There were a few people asking around to see where the carnival was, seems that they knew it was here before you started advertising. Oh, I hope they come back, I’d love to let them know.”

She bustles past him and heads to the window to put the poster up, the smile on her face firm and bright.  
Molly can’t help but smile too, genuine, happy,

“If you’re interested yourself, I work there most evenings, reading tarot, giving fortunes, spiritual and fated things.”

The shopkeeper looks over her shoulder with wide eyes,

“That sounds lovely! I may have to come along- it opens tonight, yes?”

“Tonight.” Molly beams and bows, “I hope to see you there, miss…?”  
  
“Nila.” The shopkeeper holds a hand out to him, smile not once fading from her face, and he shakes with a mirror of her expression.

“Miss Nila. I am Mollymauk Tealeaf, Molly to my friends.”

“It was nice to meet you, Molly.” When Nila smiles, her eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s wonderful. Molly likes her a lot. “I’ll let you get on. Thank you for stopping by.”  
  
“Thank you for having me.” He bows again, a little, and slips out of the store.

 

“So,” Caleb points at the sections of the map, “We will split up and check these chunks this morning. We will meet here at midday, get lunch, and then go back to check these chunks.”

“Y’sure they’re in a park?”  
  
“If they are not, we can keep looking. The parks are just the priority. Nott, Fjord, you will check Greyfriars Gardens on the other side of the city. Beau and I will check Dane Johns Gardens.”  
  
“A’ight. Back here at twelve, an’ if we find anythin’?”  
  
“You call myself or Beauregard, and we will come. And vice versa. We must regroup before approaching- I-”  
  
“Caleb.” Nott soothes, “It’s okay. We understand.”

“Thank you.” Caleb says, half a sigh, and Nott smiles.

“Are we ready to go, then?” she asks,  
  
“ _Ja,_ I am.” Caleb looks to Fjord and Beau, who nod along with him.  
  
“Let’s get to it then. Don’t forget your phone, Caleb, it’s still in our room.”

Caleb nods, absent as he thinks,

“ _Ja_.”

 

They spread into the city, Fjord and Nott waving as they wander on and Beau pulls Caleb into the par by the elbow.

“How long’ve we got?” Beau asks, and Caleb slips a hand into his pocket for his phone.

It isn’t there.  
He checks his other pockets,

“I- about an hour, it is about eleven now but- my phone. I must have left it on charge.”  
  
Beau groans loudly,

“Ugh. Fuck. And mine’s nearly dead, just have t’ hope I guess. You know the time just, like, _in your head_ though right?”  
  
“I know the approximate time, _ja_.” He answers, and she looks around the park,

“Right, let’s just- I’ll get up a tree or somethin’, and we can go wait for Fjord an’ Nott.”

They shuffle around and scan for the best vantage point, Caleb is forced to give Beau a leg up to the first branch of the ideal tree so that she can scale the rest of it. She stands at the top of it, precariously balanced and scans out over the city.  
She thinks, for a moment, she may see the tops of the tents, but she can’t be sure- it’s a blur too far away, there’s too many buildings between them, she slips back down the tree all languid ease.

“Couldn’t see anythin’, we should head back to the hotel, see if Fjord an’ Nott found ‘em. We got, what? Half an hour?”  
  
“About that, _ja_.” Caleb sighs, “I can only hope.”

 

“He isn’t picking up.” Nott worries her lip, flickering her eyes between the multicoloured tents of the carnival and Fjord’s worried face, “What about Beau?”  
  
“Phone’s dead, fuckin’ idiot forgot to charge it. We’ll just have t’ go back an’ hope theyre there.”

“But-” Nott looks over the tents, aching, “I miss Jester.”

Fjord blinks at her.  
The _whole time_ they’ve been travelling, all the time since the carnival left, Nott has been quiet. Focusing on Caleb, instead, his pain, Beau’s pain, Fjord’s health and not one of them had stopped and asked _Nott_ how she felt. She’s looking at the tents, now, with tears in her eyes and an expression of longing that he’s seen only matched in Caleb and Beau thinking of Molly and Yasha.

“Did y’ love her?” is all that comes to Fjord’s tongue and Nott laughs a little,

“I mean- yes, not in the way you’re asking, though. It was- I don’t have, people don’t _like me_ , Fjord. I’m… not a likeable person. I’ve done a lot of bad, wrong things and when people find out, they hate me for it. But Jester didn’t- she wasn’t like that. She actually _liked_ me.”

“I like y’.” Fjord points out, Nott shakes her head,

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I know y’ were homeless in a town that’s got the worst gang violence in our quiet county.” He points out, “I know y’ did what y’ had to so you could survive. I know that y’ didn’t use your fancy _butterfly knife_ to stab people.”

There’s an implied undertone to that one, and Nott swallows.

“Still. I miss- I miss Jester. She’s in there, somewhere, it would- I could-”  
  
“You won’t though, an’ I know you won’t. I think that y’ should.” Fjord offers  
  
“I can’t.” Nott shakes her head, “It’s not fair to Caleb. So here’s what we’re going to do: We’re going to go back, get food, eat, and _then_ tell them. Not before, because Caleb will run out straight away, and we don’t even know if Molly is going to be there. If we can talk him around, we should wait until the evening, Molly’ll be on teller shift.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“The only day he doesn’t work is Thursdays.” She says proudly, “It’s only Tuesday.”  
  
“I hope y’ right.” Fjord sighs as he turns, “Let’s get back. C’mon.”

They trail away, back to the hotel, back to Caleb.

 

Beau and Caleb are waiting in the lobby when they arrive, and Caleb hops up immediately. Before he can speak, Nott interrupts, “I am _so_ hungry! I can’t think of anything except _food_.”

Caleb’s mouth snaps closed and Beau bends as she stands,

“Yeah, that’s fair.” She looks to Nott, a look in her eye that tells her that Beau knows _exactly_ what she’s doing, “Let’s get food, then talk, yeah?”  
  
“Sounds good.” Nott beams, and Beau shuffles away wordlessly toward the restaurant.

They share a pizza, Nott sighs at the smell and two slices disappear into her within the first two minutes. Even Beau chuckles around her mouthful.

“So, Nott. Did you find something?” Caleb asks her, sipping his cup of coffee and not touching his share of the pizza. Nott looks up shiftily,

“Um- yes. We found them.”  
  
“You didn’t tell us _straight away_ and you found them?” Caleb doesn’t have the heart to be angry or hurt but Nott looks uncomfortable anyway. She shuffles,

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d run off-”  
  
“No.” Caleb shakes his head, “It’s- it’s okay, that’s a reasonable concern. You have other plans, I take it?”

“I think we should wait until the evening.” Nott says gently, “For the carnival to open, so Molly will be on the teller shift. And Yasha is working as security now, so she’ll be on shift too.”

“Why are we waiting for them to be _working_?”  
  
“Because then we know where to find them!” Nott beams, “Otherwise, they might not be there at all!”

Caleb can’t fault her logic. At all.

“Okay.” He sighs, “We will wait.”  
  
Nott claps a few times in excitement, and they settle back into their food and drink.

  
  


“Ornna!” Yasha knocks on her trailer door hard, “Molly needs you to dye his hair! _Ornna_!”  
  
The door opens, Ornna’s makeup half-done and looking somewhat disgruntled.

“He’s left it late.”  
  
“Two hours before sundown, same as always.” Yasha smiles her odd, sad, small smile and Ornna rolls her eyes.

“I’ll do it if you do my makeup when I’m done.”  
  
“Deal.”

  
They head to Molly’s trailer, grapple him to the chair and together begin the process of combing the blue-purple dye through his wild locks, rubbing it into the roots. It always takes easier to the pale roots than the already-dyed hair, giving him a dark-to-light gradient that he loves dearly.

He fights not to fall asleep as they work, and when they finish, they send him to shower whilst Yasha works on Ornna’s makeup.

She’s assigned to the task of putting her glitter on, Ornna’s lipstick and eyeshadow are already in place, and the eyeliner, Ornna insists, goes after everything. She has a new, glittery gold eyeliner that she wants to try, to go with the gold-and-red of her cosmetic glitter.  
Yasha trails it down her cheeks, light, as the shower shuts off and Molly emerges in a towel, a second one wrapped around his hair as he waves and shuffles to his room.

It’s time for him to get dressed.

It’s the same outfit every opening night.

The oil-slick black glitter binder, the full length one that he loves so much, that comes first. He steps into it rather than try to pull it over his had, spends a moment ensuring all flesh is where it’s supposed to be before moving on.  
He pulls himself into the patterned jeans he uses for extravagance, into the thigh-high boots that are hot and shiny, into the deep v-neck with all of the ruffles and finally, finally into the teller coat. The embroidery has been added to, now.

Little trails of forget-me-nots embroidered in silver and gold around the cuffs, a silver iris on his left lapel, silver chamomile on the other. One shoulder, slipped into the slither of space there, he has a huge golden sunflower- Jester’s soulmate mark- and the other shoulder has silver roses for Cali. He has an eryngium sewn to trail around his left sleeve, in silver, gold tips, too.

Desmond had stayed awake for many long hours to help him sew the designs in.

He digs out the necklaces, and the trails of crystals, braids the latter into his hair as he does it, winds the braid into a rose shape and pins it there. He decorates, drapes himself in jewels and metal and gold and things that glitter and shine.

Glitter.

He’s feeling glitter tonight, he thinks, Ornna is in his main room with hers right now and it’ll take minutes to apply- so he heads on out to her. She looks at him with his mouth open and sighs,

“Vaseline is on the table.”

 

He daubs the glitter onto his cheekbones like highlighter, red on the high part to gold under his eyes, makes it a careful gradient as Yasha does the same to Ornna.  
Molly plasters on his best smile. His heart aches, of course it does, but he needs to pretend to be okay.

 _Pretend_ at least.

Fake it ‘til you make it.

“Ready?” he asks Yasha and Ornna as he tucks his cards into his pocket, and gets a murmur of acceptance from them both. They crowd outside, and Molly locks up. He turns to the lights and noise and music, already filling the air of the park, people milling around already.

The sky is darkening quickly from orange to purple-navy. The music makes the air hang heavy around them. The lights of the fairground are blinding and dancing.

  
Molly looks at it all, something like nausea in his throat.

 

“It’s opening night at the Carnival.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (edited) yeah so i woke up how unfortunate last chapter tomorrow and then the 30kish of other au coming soon


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

That night at the carnival is the most active and graceful that Molly has been since he left Caleb.

He crushes his heart down in his throat and contains it, ducks around his crystal ball in almost a dance, whirling and twisting and throwing the heavy globe up in a high arch through the air before catching it daintily and following through on a huge swing.

He bends, back like a willow to catch a particularly mischievous throw, and as his hair pools under his head, this time he sees no familiar face. Just crowds of strangers, watching him as his spine crackles and he hefts the ball upward, high, strains his thighs to pull himself upright in just enough time to stride twice, three times, and catch the ball above his head in both hands.  
He’s met with a smattering of claps and bows, waves the ball to the crowd, the light of the fire pit haloed around him, lighting him like a spirit from behind, turning the lavender of his hair to bright violet. He spreads his arms and smiles, wide,

“I am Mollymauk Tealeaf, weaver at the loom of fate. Who wishes to be my first thread of the night?”

 

He reads three or four people, Nila included, and trails off up toward the tent. This whole _pretending to be okay_ thing is exhausting. He wants Yasha to hug him, just for a bit, just to hold the world at bay.  
Everything is bright and loud and irritating and it all reminds him of Caleb.  
He huffs his way up to the tent and is curving around when Gustav calls his name and he trudges over.  
Gustav takes a hold of his chin, firm and scrutinising.

“Take five, you look ready to break. Also, tomorrow, I need you to pick up the new trailer.”

“New trailer?”  
  
“Well, you and Yasha. Two of them.”   
  
“Why _two?_  We only have Yasha?”   
  
“ _Technically_ ,” Gustav imitates Jester and smiles, “Bosun should be moving out, and Yasha needs her own trailer, so… that’s how the cookie is crumbling.”   
  
“Could they not go in one?”   
  
“They’ve been bought, Molly, just do as you’re told.” Gustav releases Molly’s chin and rolls his eyes. “Now go see Yasha and have a cooldown. You’re doing well and I’m proud of you.”   
  
“Thanks, _dad_.” Molly grumbles as he heads off and Gustav laughs a little,

“No problem, son.”

Molly trails away from him around the tent, it doesn’t take long at all for him to bump into Yasha.

“Yasha.” He says.  
  
“Molly.” She replies, and bundles him into a hug before he can even ask her to. He shudders and relaxes into it, doesn’t have the energy to hug her back but she knows that, she knows him, it’s his mark on her wrist. She doesn’t _need_ to ask.  
They stay still, there, for a while. Bundled up against the cool summer night, Yasha’s shawl soft against Molly’s cheek.

“You going back to work?”  
  
“Suppose I should.” Molly sighs as he peels away. Yasha takes his shoulders and holds his gaze, steady.

She pokes his cheeks.

“Smile.” She tells him seriously, and he does, only half-faked. Yasha smiles back at him, “Good. You’re doing well.”

“Thank you.” He smooths himself out and steps back, “I’ll see you later.”  
  
“See you later.” she waves him away, and off he trundles, back to being his fortune teller self.

 

Caleb comes to the carnival in a Nott-selected outfit.  
It isn’t much different from what he usually wears, not really, he’s shed the heavy coat and switched his usual boots into canvas shoes, he keeps his black pants and thick belt and his turtleneck. The icing on the Caleb, Nott says, is the flower crown.

The one that Molly made him.

It’s dark, for now, they’re travelling tight but they’ll light it up when they split- there’s no way to miss poor, nervous wreck Caleb when he’s wearing a halo.  
Caleb clutches it to his head with his right hand.

“This is stupid.” Beau grumbles as they trail through the tents, Caleb’s left hand in her own. He’s squeezing, she knows he’s nervous and as they come to a crowd she pulls him in, closer to her, so that her hip bumps his gently with every step. He clings to her side with eyes wide and heartbeat hummingbird-quick in his chest. It feels like the air is light, it makes his head feel the same and he tries to take breaths that stick in his throat.

“Hey.” Beau says quietly, “You need to take a breather?”

“Uh- no- no, I should, I’m fine.”

“Good. Let me know, okay? It’s not a big deal.”  
  
“Thank you, Beauregard.”   
  
She squeezes his fingers and they move on toward the tent.  
They’re halfway there when they encounter a problem. And it isn’t any of the _problems_ they want to encounter, it isn’t Molly, or Yasha, or Jester, or Cali- no.  
It’s a bonfire. In a pit in the centre of the celebration, carefully monitored, with police around and people gathered. There seems to be some sort of display going on, but Caleb is too busy staring with wide, horrified eyes.

“Fire.” He whispers softly. Beau looks over and frowns in concern,

“Everythin’ okay?”  
  
“I- fire- no. I have… issues with fire.”

He hasn’t told her about the Widogasts, hasn’t told her of his parents and the sweet shop and his mistakes. He worries she’ll need answers before she’ll accept it, that she’d think he’s weak, stupid- it’s _fire_ , it’s everywhere and it’s warm and keeping people happy. Why can’t he just _be okay_?   
Beau’s hand squishes his gently, pulls him back,

“D’you want to go the long way around?”  
  
She isn’t judging him.  
She isn’t angry.  
She’s just worried, she cares for him, it’s an odd and alien feeling and Caleb feels a little braver,  
  
“No, I’ll be alright. It’s okay.”

It’s a lie, he finds; every step that they get closer to the bonfire begins to ache and burn and Caleb’s wide eyes only widen further. Nott clings to his right, Fjord to his back, Beau to his left and a little ahead, holding tight to his hand.

“You’ll tell us if y’need out?” She asks as they come to the edge of the ring of fire-glow.

“Yes.” Caleb lies. She’s been patient enough already. She doesn’t need him fucking things up, she’s here for someone too, he’s not _special_.

They edge closer and around, as far from the fire as they can be and the feeling of solidity that Caleb associates with being alive and calm gets further from his fingertips with every passing second.  
He squeezes Beau’s hand twice, quickly.

“Beauregard.” He says, his voice high and choked.

“Y’alright, Caleb?” She looks over her shoulder and finds his cheeks flushed and eyes full of tears and breathing too shallow and fast.

“I need out.” His voice cracks and she squeezes his fingers,

“A’right. Hold on. We’re movin’.”  
  
They shift faster past the fire, speed too quick for Caleb’s shaking bones to catch up with and he trips halfway, Nott catches him and they move onward, up toward the tent, out of the circle of the flame.   
Caleb wipes his eyes and they stop in a dark corner whilst he catches his own breath and ropes himself back into his outline.

 

  
Molly doesn’t have a good lead-in for the tarot cards, not really, but he catches Nila on his way back down to the bonfire and reads for her. She’s a good heart, he lets the fates take his hands for her, tells her a tale of great fortune, of helping others and filling her heart with joy. She remarks to him that she can see the same in his future, and he laughs, laughs, laughs it off.

What good fortune could come to him?

Caleb is gone and happy, forgetting Molly, doesn’t need him. Molly is hollow without Caleb in his arms.

His intention, he thinks, is to perform around the fire, to dance with the ball until he’s called to read, to attract attention. The ball sends light spinning when it’s aloft, it attracts attention well, he knows it’s a good plan and he winds through the stalls heading down. The fire flickers in the distance, a beacon signalling him the way home.

 

 

Caleb calms down once the firelight fades and the shadows become respite, he returns to his determination and brightens up, instead.

“We should fan out, into a line.” He tells his friends, eyes combing the area and mapping out the ideal positioning for such a manoeuvre. Beau comes to his side and stretches up to fiddle with his crown, it jostles on his head,

“We _should,_ ” she says, grunts, “light you _up_.”

As she says it, light bursts in Caleb’s eyes and for a moment he thinks she’s clocked him around the back of his head. Then, as his eyes adjust, he realises that she’s simply flicked the switch on his flower crown.  
A few people stop and look and smile, and despite the attention, Caleb feels… good. He’s glad, he thinks, that he can bring some kind of happiness.

He wonders if this is how Molly feels.

Making children smile. Telling people that their life will be bright and full of life. Making Caleb laugh and giving him that soft, aching, affectionate expression that Caleb knows now is love

“There’s no way any of ‘em could miss you like that.” Beau stands back, smug at her handiwork, folds her arms as she pulls Caleb from his reverie, “But yeah. We should make a line. Fjord, Nott, you, me.”

Nott and Caleb are at opposite sides of the aisle of stalls, winding over to the circus tent. They trail alone, Nott falls behind somewhere near a jewellery stall, Fjord falls away not long after to retrieve her.  
Heads turn as Caleb passes, his halo distinctive even against the bright lights of the stalls around him, the smell of fair food filling the air with a distinct mugginess that both makes him feel sick, and helps him to focus. He looks, careful, for the barest hint of the tails of Molly’s teller cloak, flitting from side-to-side and, eventually, alone. The glimpses his catches of Beau get fewer, and he knows almost inherently that she’s flitted ahead. They know where Yasha will be. Molly is more difficult.

 

Molly, on the other hand, tucks his tarot cards away. They require an attention this evening that he can’t give, he continues to bullshit his way instead around the crystal ball, even touching people is too much for tonight, palm readings, all the bullshit that goes with that. He tried with one person, found himself nearly crying at the warmth of their skin and ran quickly through a script about fortune and happiness so he could let go.

His act is flagging around him and he clings to the tatters of his happiness and pulls it in like a cloak. He won’t let go.

He won’t.

 

There’s a light coming up the hill.

 

A moving one, there’s a lot of lights but few that move and this- this light is odd. Familiar, almost, it flits from side to side in the aisle of the- wait.

A blur darts past him and he forgets the light to follow it with his eyes.

He could have _sworn blind_ he’s just seen Beau, he takes two steps back up the hill before the light tugs at the corner of his mind again and he turns back.

He pockets the crystal ball.

The light is getting closer, it’s a _person_ , if only he could figure out-

 

Figure-

 

Figure out-

 

Molly takes a deep breath as the world spins around him with possibility, with fortune and fate and the moonlight all around and the noise of the fairground and the smell of the food stalls down further this way.

The light stops, too. Halfway up the curve of the hill that Molly stands atop, panting with sudden shock and haloed from behind by the near-full moon over the tops of the trees in the park, the faint light of the stalls either side lighting him softly.

 

He looks older.

 

More tired.

 

Thinner, perhaps, like he hasn’t been sleeping, like he hasn’t been eating, like he hasn’t been himself.

Caleb can’t say he hasn’t followed the same way.

 

He tilts the crown back for the full view and his bright blue eyes meet Molly’s mismatched green-brown for the first time in a month that has felt like every day had stretched for a week.

Molly stands in reeling disbelief and breathes in, every second further that passes brings with it a grin, so bright it’s blinding Caleb more than the crown or the sun ever could.

And Molly- Molly sees it mirrored in Caleb’s face, the colour of his eyes paling from deep blue storm to bright daylight over the sunbright of his smile.

 

“ _Caleb_.”

 

Like the wind whipping hair back from his face, Molly’s call comes out loud and sharp and physical force against his lips as he rushes down the hill and in answer, Caleb surges upward,

 

“ _Molly._ ”

 

It’s meters between them, feeling like miles, and they collapse the space closer, closer, and Caleb catches a handful of Molly’s lapel with his left, cups at the back of his head with the other and feels Molly’s hands at his cheeks and then all he feels is bliss as he presses his lips to Molly’s for the first time.  
It’s hard and desperate, for the first few seconds, Caleb can’t process nearly enough to think of anything but the searing hot against his mouth, under his fingertips, the texture and weight of Molly’s teller coat and the embroidery against his unbound palm.

They twist and everything is softer.

Caleb can feel and appreciate and document the way that Molly’s lips press to his, no words but their names, only the taste of coffee and sugar on Molly’s tongue. Only the soft, slightly chapped feel of his lips, the buzz as they slide over his own, lightening the kiss a little at a time and Caleb, Caleb wants more but he’s confident in this moment.  
  
There’s time for that later.

Molly draws away, slow, it takes a half-second longer for his beautiful eyes to flicker open and meet Caleb’s, wide and blue and overjoyed.

“Hi.” Molly’s voice is soft and warm and full to overflowing with love and warmth and Caleb presses in for another quick kiss,

“ _Hallo_.”

They stand, stunned silence for a moment, staring and holding one another and pressing as though to reassure themselves that they’re real, they’re physically there, it’s _real_.

“You- uh- you came. Here. What about- you were moving house?”

Caleb shrugs,

“Beauregard, Nott, and myself are- well. We have no house. But-” He bites his lip a little, nerves at the best of him, but when he looks up at Molly it fades away.

“I came home.” he tells Molly softly, “You are my home. I have never felt as safe anywhere as I do with you.”

Molly can’t find the words for an answer. Nothing is enough and instead he threads his hands through Caleb’s hair and pulls him into another kiss, feels Caleb’s arms loop around his waist and sinks in to the feeling of everything being _right_ in the world.

 

Beau knows she’s meant to be keeping an eye on Caleb. She knows she’s meant to direct Molly to him. But the tent is getting closer and her body moves without her permission, without her knowledge, and she charges. She runs, wind-like past Molly’s lavender hair, past the stalls, away from them as they kiss and up. She sees Gustav, he meets her eyes and points, just points and she doesn’t slow as she curves around the tent.

Her lungs burn. The air itself tastes like fire and she doesn’t slow.

Yasha’s hair glows in the moonlight, luminous on her pale skin and the wonderful gradient of the black-to-grey, the fur of the shawl gleaming and her back is to Beau but she’s still gorgeous, wonderful, incredible and Beau’s heart near to bursts.

“Yasha!” She calls, and Yasha turns. She sees a blur of brown and blue coming toward her, her first reaction is to pull up her fists.

“Yasha!” Beau calls again, grinning against the wind whipping her face. Yasha’s fists drop and her mismatched eyes widen in shock.

“Beau?” She says, soft, and then takes off running. Bosun, behind her, calls in distress as his partner flees.

They meet in the middle and Yasha sweeps Beau up, swings her around like she weighs nothing and Beau winds her arms around Yasha’s shoulders and laughs into the crook of her neck.  
Yasha does not set her down.  
She keeps hold of her hard and tight and presses Beau into her and swears she doesn’t cry.

“You came.” Yasha says thickly, “You came after us.”

“Fucking shut up and kiss me.” Beau struggles to lean back and Yasha sets her down so that she can oblige. She presses her lips hard to Beau’s, and Beau re-winds her arms around her neck to press back, tangling her fingers in Yasha’s hair and pressing into her and everything, everything couldn’t be better she _swears_.

 

The evening is a collapse-in.  
Molly comes to the tent hand-in-hand with Caleb, peppering him with kisses at every opportunity, job forgotten as they come to Yasha and Beau. Nott and Fjord catch up, and the six of them cuddle in together, choking sobs off. Nott presses against Yasha’s side and sobs into her arm, too short to reach her shoulder.

“Jester?” Nott asks through her tears, and Yasha puts an arm around her, kisses the top of her head,

“Performing. We’ll go wait backstage, yes?”

“You’re all carnival family now.” Molly murmurs, mostly against Caleb’s lips, “You’re all one of us.”

 

Bosun doesn’t seem surprised as he lets them in with a sigh, and Molly pauses to headbutt him affectionately, receives a hair ruffle in reply.  
They head backstage as a crowd, Cali is waiting for Jester when they arrive and she looks over in shock.

“Mister Caleb!” She near-shrieks, as it sinks in, “Miss Beau!”

And she’s rushing over, Caleb is hit with a ten-ton force of Calianna rushing into a hug with him, and he almost laughs, wheezes instead.

“Hello, Cali.”

“Jester said you’d come eventually! She swore you would!” Cali beams, squeezes, releases and moves on to Beau, to Fjord, to Nott.

“She did, did she?” Caleb raises an eyebrow.

“She promised! She missed you a lot, especially you, Nott.”

She releases Nott and smiles as Nott puts a hand to her head and huffs.

“Me?” she asks, voice small, “Really?”

Jester takes that opportune moment to push into the little hut-like backstage.  
She looks over the crowd, mouth hanging open.

“ _Nott_.” is the first name out of her mouth and Nott just about has the time to throw her arms open before Jester is running into her, bundling her up and spinning, spinning, spinning. They spin so hard, in fact, that Jester trips over herself and they both hit the soft grass laughing.

“You came.” Jester sobs through laughs, “You finally _came_. I _made_ Gustav buy two trailers, I _promised_ him you’d come.”

“It was _you_.” Molly sounds scandalised and Jester beams through the tears streaming down her face.

“It was _me_.” She replies, cuddles Nott closer to her, and sobs happily as her friends all crawl up around her and fall into a cuddle puddle in the backstage of the carnival.

 

 

“Fjord?” Nott asks softly, curled on her bed at the hotel. Fjord hums and looks over to her from Caleb’s bed- it’s not like Caleb needs it, he’s staying with Molly in the trailer. Nott’s shoulders are hunched, and he climbs off of his bed and goes to her,

“Nott? Everythin’ okay?”

He sits beside her and she shuffles to cling to his arm, head on his shoulder,

“What are we going to do, after this? Are we going to travel with the Carnival? Where will we live?”

“I’m sure Gustav’s got this under control, y’heard what Jester said.” Fjord soothes, “She cares about y’ a lot, Nott, we all do. She won’t let y’ down, an’ if it makes y’ feel better, I’ll get in on the information and sort you out tomorrow. I promise.”

“Promise?” She says softly, “You’ll fix it?”

“Nothin’s broken, just a li’l odd.” Fjord smiles as he reassures, “We’re gonna have a real good time, Nott, we’re home now. This is our family.”

“You’re _my_ family.” She protests, “You and Caleb and Yasha and Jester-” 

“I know. But you got a bigger family now, the whole carnival is your family.” he smiles and rocks her, “Hey, wanna check up on that virus? See how many it’s run?”

Nott sits up, excited, and fishes her laptop out from under the bed,

“ _Yes_ , let’s do that. So-”

They go through, the virus has run thirteen times so far, seems to be running smoothly, and Fjord flatters Nott in compliments until she curls up beside him on the bed and falls to sleep, fully clothed, and wrapped up in the quilts, and Fjord closes her laptop down for her, heads to his own bed, and falls asleep.

 

 

“So.” says Molly, he, Caleb, Gustav, and Fjord sit around a little plan of the trailers, “This makes sense?”

“I think so.” Gustav taps Jester’s caravan, “Jester and Cali, and Nott taking Bosun’s space.”

“ _Ja_ ,  Nott will enjoy that.” 

“Fjord and Bosun.” Gustav taps one of the new, empty trailers, “And Yasha and Beauregard in this one.”

“With one room in there left over, _ja_.” Caleb smiles, “And I can stay with Molly?” 

“Son, we wouldn’t have you anywhere else.” Gustav smiles back, eyes crinkling at the edges.

Molly puts his fingers gently to Caleb’s jaw and tilts to kiss him, soft and light and loving and makes Fjord roll his eyes and smile.

“Go, fuck off, and get some sleep.” Gustav waves his hands dismissively at Caleb and Molly, “You need it, you definitely need it.”

Molly pulls Caleb along and out of the room, and as he passes Gustav, Caleb leans over,

“Thank you, Gustav. For everything.”

“It’s no problem, Caleb. Molly loves you. You’re one of us.” Gustav smiles over his shoulder at Caleb as he’s pulled into Molly’s bedroom.

 

Pulled, Molly walking backwards, to Molly’s bed.

 

Pulled into a hard, desperately warm kiss as Molly collapses back onto the bed and Caleb comes with him, laughing through his best efforts to keep the kiss going, they scuffle up until they’re pressed, chest-to-chest and cuddled up together. Entwined, pressing sleepy kisses to one another, Caleb kisses along the corner of Molly’s mouth and down his neck to his shoulder, settles there quiet and content.

“Binder.” He says softly to Molly, and Molly laughs as he peels away and sits up to strip his shirt and binder off, doesn’t bother with putting anything back on. It’s midday, almost, they’ve been awake all night talking and they’re both so _tired_. Caleb skims a hand across the soft of Molly’s stomach, around to his waist and pulls him back down. Shuffles the quilt up over them.

“I love you, Molly.” Caleb says softly, presses a kiss soft and sweet to Molly’s lips, pulls Molly to him hard and pressing, “ _Tha gaol agam ort._ ”

Molly shudders and presses back, kisses him hard and long and sweet, a quiet moment of nothing but the gentle slide of tongue and teeth and lips.

“I love you too.” He replies, just as soft and warm, and twines his legs with Caleb’s as they cuddle down to sleep, “ _Ich liebe dich._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thats it over! Thank you for sticking with my hellbrainspawn  
> may Mollymauk Tealeaf rest in eternal peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much all binders described/mentioned in this fic come from [Shapeshifters](https://www.shapeshifters.co/)!  
> I can attest personally to how good they are, I came v close to a permenantly warped rib before I got my binder from them but the way they're made takes a lot of pressure off of it. It's way better now and I owe them a lot, you should check 'em out!


End file.
